


The Essence of a Rider

by Owlmemaybe



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative book 4, F/M, Vault of Souls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlmemaybe/pseuds/Owlmemaybe
Summary: AU after Brisingr, with another interpretation of the Vault of Souls.After conquering Feinster, the Vardens advance towards Uru'baen and Eragon must get ready for the final confrontation. Old secrets are revealed, and the task is far from over.





	1. Aftermath

After watching the sunrise with Saphira, Eragon decided to go see the wounded. Even though he was terribly tired from the fight with the shade and grieving his master, he still felt it his duty to help heal the soldiers and offer comfort to those who couldn't be saved.

For hours, he talked to dying men, healed others, taught the members of the Du Vrangr Gata he met a few healing words. Saphira had returned to his tent, but she was not sleeping either. They both knew that they would need some time together to grieve before they could even attempt to get some rest. So instead, she was sending him energy, helping him in his self-imposed quest of saving as many lives as possible.

He knew that, exhausted as he was, he would not make a real difference in the final numbers. On the scale of an army, saving a couple dozens of men was barely noticed if one counted the soldiers. But Eragon, though often younger than most of the soldiers, had already seen enough battles and destruction to realize the importance of maintaining the troops' morale as high as possible. That alone, as a Rider and therefore a leader of the Vardens, was more than enough to justify his actions.

But mostly, he hated war. He hated killing. Especially humans. If he had not discovered Saphira's egg, he would probably one of those agonizing men. And he did not even know on which side he would have ended. Oh, yes, he had always hated the Empire and its Mad King – no one in Carvahall appreciated Galbatorix. But if he had simply remained the farm boy, whose main struggle was finding enough meat to last the winter ? What then ? Once the Vardens and the elves started the war in earnest, he would have only three choices : pray for the war to remain far away from the Spine, flee the Empire to join the Vardens, or be forced to fight for the king. In fact, he would probably have had to choose one side sooner or later. War spared no one.

He was extremely thankful for his time with Oromis, and how the old Rider had forced him to think about the reasons he was fighting in this war. He was also glad that the other species where on their sides. After spending time with them – even the Urgals – he had mostly outgrown his old ingrained prejudices. He knew he would now have the same guilt in killing one of them as he would have in killing a human. Though that might also be a consequence of the fact that he did not really feel human as much as he used to.

He was not blind either. Urgals had a brutal society, which meant that any lasting peace would necessitate careful thinking. Elves were excessively prejudiced against other species – and their isolation of the last century had certainly not helped – often feeling superior to them, and failed to realize that a shorter life did not always equal a less experienced one. Humans were often selfish, and their personal interests often seemed to interfere with their duty; but was it not those same interests that gave them the will to keep going ? Dwarves had a complex society and a strong sense of family and, as he had seen first-hand, this tended to slow them in taking decision as a nation. But once given, their support was invaluable and their loyalty was true.

As for werecats... Well, he wasn't sure he would ever understand this particular species. Sometimes, he wondered if werecats understood themselves, and whether Angela's unique way of being was not a result of living with one. Saphira sniggered at the thought.

'I had never thought about it that way. It would explain much.' she said as smoke escaped her mouth from her quiet laughter.

'It would. But then again, perhaps she was the one who rendered them all mad in the first place. I confess I would very much like to witness a conversation between her and an elf...' Eragon approved with a smile.

'Um... I'm not sure such conversation would be safe for the witnesses...'

'You are probably right. It would be worth it though.'

'And quite a noble death ! You did not give your opinion about Dragons yet. I'm quite eager to hear it.' Saphira added.

Eragon could feel the feral smile in her tone. But he was not intimidated in the least.

'You should be though'

'As if you would hurt me. And you can't blame me for stating the truth.'

'Then let's hear your truth. And remember that I'm not above punishing you. As long has it does not cause any lasting harm, of course.'

'So kind of you... Anyway, I would say that Dragons are proud and independent, carefree spirits. Like the elves, you can have difficulties admitting your mistakes. But I'm not sure how much more I know. How were the wild Dragons organized ? Did they even have a political system ? How much was it influenced by the Bond with the other species ? How different were the Dragons who chose a Rider from those who were wild ? I do not know. I mean, you and I were taught about all this by Glaedr. But it is quite different from actually experiencing it as we have had the opportunity with the other species.'

'Well, I certainly can't contest your accusation of pride... And I also agree with your feelings on Dragons in general. I can only hope that we will one day have the opportunity to find out.' She concluded sadly.

During their talk, Eragon had healed three more men, two from the Vardens and one from Feinster. He much preferred healing to killing. He regretted that his training had had to be so focused on destroying lives, when the purpose of a Rider was much more vast. Many of the wounds he saw were beyond his current knowledge, but not beyond the possibilities offered by magic. He would have to try and further his experience in that particular field. Looking at the soldiers, he found himself cruelly wanting. How many more would he have been able to save, had there been enough time for him to receive a full training ?

The man he had just finished healing, who was the one from Feinster, grabbed his arm :

''Why do you do this ? Why do you heal us ? We are enemies. You did not hesitate to kill my fellow soldiers just a few hours ago. Yet here you are now, healing us in addition to your own men. I do not understand.''

''I did not ask for this war. I did not ask to be a Rider, and all that it entails. Make no mistakes, I do not regret it. And if I could go back in time, finding Saphira's egg is the last thing I would change. But that does not mean that I have to like everything in my duties as a Free Rider. I do not like killing – no more, I guess, than you do. But I also know that killing Galbatorix is a necessity. And unfortunately, that cannot be achieved without this war.''

''You could have remained hidden. Left the people of Alagaesia alone. My life was not ideal, I'll grant you that much, but it was fine. Then you Vardens started this war. I lost my brother, who went to the Burning Plains. As far as I know, you could even be the very man who killed him !''

''I have no wish to make excuses. I do not expect the people in the Empire to ever forgive me for being the catalyst of this war. But Galbatorix already destroyed far too much over the last century. And he will not stop on his own. He is mad. He is not fit to rule a kingdom.''

''And you are ? How old are you ? What do you actually know of life besides destruction ? Are you even human ? Why couldn't you just leave us to our own problems, instead of making it your own ? Why can't you just leave Alagaesia and end this war ?!'' the man cried.

''I have no wish to be king. If I can, I will never draw a sword once this war is over. That is all I can promise.'' Eragon freed his arm from the man's weak grasp, trying not to let his confusion and unease show after this new allusion to Angela's prophecy.

Pushing the discussion in the back of his mind, Eragon turned to the next man, quickly assessing his condition to be beyond his abilities. He whispered a few words of comfort to the dying man. The words sounded hollow to him, but they brought a smile to the soldier's lips. He then crossed the room to take care of the next wounded man. He briefly stopped to correct the pronunciation of a young member of the Du Vrangr Gata.

The pattern of healing and comforting kept repeating itself for a couple more hours. Regularly, the bodies of dead soldiers were carried out, the emptied beds immediately occupied by new soldiers in need of medical help. The members of Du Vrangr Gata left one after the other, surrendering to the exhaustion of the battle and healing session.

Once Eragon himself was too exhausted to keep going, he finally stopped. He dragged himself back to his tent, but he did not enter it. Instead he positioned himself comfortably against his dragon's flank. She wrapped herself around him and covered him with her wing. Silently, they let go and shared their emotions, their most cherished memories with Oromis and Glaedr. They knew that Glaedr was still somewhat alive in his Eldunari, but they were aware that he would, could, never be the same after such a loss. So in a way, they had indeed lost both of their masters in the battle against Murtagh-Galbatorix.

But added to the grief was the fear. Oromis' death made them wonder how many more loved ones they might lose in the coming month. And worse, of the possibility of losing each other. They doubted they would survive such a shock, and even more that they would want to survive it. And if they did, they would have to keep going until the end. For the Vardens. For all the men who lost their lives since the Fall. And for the dragons.

They finally fell asleep, but fitfully. Distant voices seemed to call them, but no matter where they turned there was only darkness. When they finally awoke, they were surprised to realize that they had had the same dreams. This had not happened before, even during Eragon's prophetic dreams. But the bond between a Rider and his dragon was supposed to deepen with time. Was this another, less talked about, part of it ? Oromis and Glaedr had refused to tell them what to expect, and when.

'Any relationship takes time and deepens in its own way, at its own pace. There is no way to tell how many fruits you will reap, nor the time when you'll feast on them.' had been Oromis' only answer.

Thinking of their master brought back the pain of loss to the forefront of their minds. No longer able to bear the inactivity, they got up and warned their guards that they were going for a fly. Though he had promised not to leave them behind again, he needed time alone before facing the rest of the Vardens.

He knew he would have to make an appearance to ensure the troops morale remained high. They had conquered the city, but their were many losses. Also, Eragon himself needed to discuss several things Nasuada and the other commanders. Firstly, the fact that he had seen soldiers stealing the inhabitants of Feinster, which could not be tolerated. If such behaviour was tolerated after only a few battles, he truly feared was the men would feel entitled to once they neared Uru'Baen. Then, there was the matter of Lady Lorana. Though she had swore fealty to Galbatorix, she simply wanted to protect her city and its people. He could not condemn her intentions.

And they had to go to their masters' funeral. He made a face at the thought. None of the leaders would like that. They were always reluctant to let him go away from the army. It had already been hard to obtain some time in Ellesmerà after the Burning Plains. He would need a lot of persuasion to convince them now that they were getting deeper inside the borders of the Empire...

'Sometimes, I wonder if you do not suffer from amnesia.' the dragonness declared, interrupting his line of thought.

'Why would you think that ?'

'You swore fealty to Nasuada. I did not. If they prove too difficult, I will simply make it clear that I will not allow you to miss Oromis and Glaedr's funeral. Besides, we should be the ones to officiate it anyway. If they want a Rider, they must learn to accept that he has other duties besides being a powerful weapon in battle.'

'I know. I can't help but think that it is partially our fault, though. Neither of us likes political games. You can't deny that we were more than happy to focus on training instead of learning all the intricacies of the political mechanisms of the Vardens, the Surda, the Dwarves... I did not even know how Dwarves choose their king before I joined Orik at Farthen Dur!'

'And though the Council has often caused us problems, we still do not really know how much real power it holds, and what are his prerogatives.'

'It is a great oversight on our part...' Eragon sighed.

'Not really. Focusing on training was vital at the time. There is no need to learn the rules of a game if you never live long enough to actually play it.' Saphira reasoned.

'But there is no point in surviving a battle if you cannot survive the aftermath.'

'True. But we should not forget that we have had little time to prepare. We accomplished much, and I hatched barely a year ago. There is a limit to what can be done.'

'I know. And I'm proud of what we accomplished so far. But I do wonder whether it is enough. We can only promise to do our best. What happens when your best still is not enough ?'

'You cry. And then you search for another way to do your task.' Saphira stated.

'That's not exactly helpful, you know.' He remarked.

'I do. But I cannot think of a better answer.' She paused 'And we might already have this other way. Or an hint of it at least.'

'You are referring to Solembum's advice, aren't you ?'

'I am. But, like what happened with the Menoa tree, I'd think that events will show us when the time is right.'

'Let us hope so.'

They were silent for a while, enjoying the bite of the cold wind on their skin, or scales, and delighting in the freedom it made them feel. Such small moments of pleasure would probably grow fewer and farther between as they advanced towards the final confrontation. It was also a good reminder that, despite the war raging on the grounds, no living being in Alagaesia would ever be able to destroy the quietness of nature.

'Not that nature is always kind and calm, though' Eragon shivered, remembering the storm they had encountered with Brom on their journey to Teirm.

'Are you securely tied to the saddle ?' Saphira suddenly asked. 'I'd like for us to truly fly together.' She added eagerly.

'You know I'm always ready for that !' He answered with a smile.

Eragon quickly checked the restrains around his legs and arms, and then let go of all the barriers between himself and his dragon. Their minds merged, and he felt himself leaving his body behind, and became fully aware of every muscles, every articulations and every tensions in the dragonness' body. As one, they flew, rolled, made sharp turns and steeper dives, perfectly aware and confident in their capacities of correcting the trajectory in time.

After about a quarter of an hour, they minds slowly separated, almost regretfully. Eragon carefully sat up, massaged the arm he had been laying on and that had become a little stiff. Saphira slowed her flight and stopped her acrobatics.

He glanced towards the ground. Many men had obviously been watching them and were cheering. Saphira circled above the crowd to thank them. Seeing the soldiers reminded him of his need to talk to Nasuada about the behaviour he witnessed during the battle.

'What do you think we should do, Saphira ?'

'You are not the leader of the Vardens. It is not your burden to punish wrong behaviour.'

'I know. And thank the gods for that! But I still think that I should make a statement. Directly tell all the men that such behaviour cannot be tolerated, especially from men who swore to fight against oppression.'

'They do not understand all the reasons of this war. I doubt they actually care about saving the Dragons. They fight because they want to break Galbatorix' hold on their ancestors' lands. But I'm glad they actually recognize a handsome and gifted dragon.'

'Such modesty ! I agree with you, though. And in a way, I admire them for being willing to sacrifice so much of themselves for this task. But if that reason was enough for them to gamble their life in an uncertain war, it should be reason enough for them to respect their fellow human beings.'

'You know that I do not understand all the humans' customs. But I agree that those soldiers behaviour will not endear us to the inhabitants of the Empire. And when this war is over and done with, it will be our task to make sure everyone manages to live together without stomping on their neighbour's eggs.'

'Which might actually be harder than killing Galbatorix. At least now, we know who our enemy is...'

'True.' She made a barrel roll. Eragon gripped the handle tight. 'We also need to decide what to do with your prisoners. And Lady Lorana.'

'Lady Lorana's fate is not for us to decide either. But I will speak for her. She only swore to Galbatorix to protect her people. Basically, her motives are the same as ours. She just didn't have the same opportunities we have had. I can't blame her for doing whatever she could.'

'I liked her too. I doubt Nasuada and even Orrin will be against treating her well. It would only alienate them further from the inhabitants. And from us once we make our opinion known.' She added with a feral grin.

'And the soldiers ?' He prompted.

'It is important for you. I will support you whatever you decide.' She simply said.

'Thank you. First, I will have to check whether or not they are sworn to the Empire. If they are, we cannot trust them, no matter their opinion. I will try to arrange for them to be taken to Surda. Hopefully, my status of Rider will be enough to protect them. If we lose this war, their fate will be up to Galbatorix. If we win, I will try to make sure they get back their lands and return to their families.'

'How will you support them all ? I doubt the Surdan king will be willing to pay for such treatment.'

'We did earn quite a lot from fighting. We are paid as an officer. Though I first tried to refuse, I'm glad now that I have the money. And as the last free Riders, we have everything they left behind. Someday, we will get it back from Doru Araeba. Or from Galbatorix.'

'True. And I'm sure Orrin will rather lend us money than having us turn on him. He wants to be king.'

'I know. I'm not sure it would be such a great choice, though.'

'And if the men still have their freedom from the Empire ?'

'Then I will offer them to fight alongside us or remain prisoners until the end of the war. Hopefully, some of them will chose to fight.'

Saphira started to slowly descend toward the ground and their tent.

'Will you keep offering this to the soldiers in the next battles ?'

'I think I will. Unless it proves impractical, of course. At least, I know the men I had to kill chose to fight. It does not absolve me, but I confess it eases my mind somewhat. When you think about it, those men are not our real enemies. They are victims more than anything.'

'I know. And I approve, though I will not pretend that I have the same logic as you. But it is the best logic for you. So I will respect and support your decision.' After a short pause, she added 'As long as you do not do anything foolish, of course.'

'Of course. And thank you.'

They landed near the tent. Immediately, Blödgharm approached them, congratulating the dragon on her prowess before telling Eragon that Jarsha came by with a summon from Nasuada. They had to join her and the other leaders in a couple of hours in the main tent, to discuss the aftermath and what to do next.

Before he had time to reply, a soldier, who had followed Saphira as she prepared to land, asked what was to be done about the prisoners. Eragon told the soldier that he would come after his discussion with the leaders, and inquired where the prisoners were currently stationed. He then asked the soldiers to confirm his presence to Nasuada and to whomever was guarding his prisoners. He also added that said prisoners were not to be mistreated in any way.

'I haven't really seen Roran since the battle. Do you want to come ?' He asked Saphira.

'I will stay here, I'd like some rest before debating of human politics. Besides, we both know that your family reunion will be easier if I'm not physically there.'

'Roran and Katrina have gotten used to you.'

'I know. And I'm happy to be welcomed by your nest-brother and his mate. But the others from Carvahall still need time. No need to disturb your family time with their gawking.' She declared, yawning.

Eragon nodded, smiling half-heartedly. Carvahall was home-town to them both, but it was also quite isolated. Besides Brom's stories, the inhabitants of the northern village had grown hearing only legends, often picturing Elves as child-stealer, Urgals as bloodthirsty monster... None of them had ever seen a Dragon before the battle of the Burning Plains, and Saphira was the reason they had to flee their beloved lands in the first place. Eragon feared the day one of the people from Carvahall would ask him to show them an image of the village or of one of those who chose to remain. Seeing its destroyed state once had been hard enough, month ago. And he believed the shock would be worse for men who had fought to defend it than for a man who had always felt apart – though he had truly loved his home-town and his uncle's farm.

He trotted towards the part of the camp where the people of Carvahall had set their tents. As he neared the area, he heard the sound of metal hitting upon metal. Looking around, he saw Horst, obviously forging a new blade. He went to him, asking him about the people of Carvahall. One of them, Orval, had died in the battle, and would be buried tomorrow, following Carvahall's tradition though he could not be buried in Carvahall's lands. He whispered his condolences, eyes slightly wet, and continued on to his cousin's tent. He would deal with that particular loss on the morrow. He had no energy to think of it today.

He knocked on the side of the tent to signal his presence. Immediately, his cousin opened the side of the tent and invited him in.

''I just heard about Orval. I cannot stay long. I just wanted to make sure you both were okay.'' Eragon explained.

''We are okay. Or... Orval will be buried tomorrow. Will you be able to come ?''

''I will come. I will have to address the men some time tomorrow, but I will come.'' He paused ''How are doing ? You both knew him better than me.''

No one stated the obvious. Eragon had left over a year ago, leaving the people from his childhood behind, whereas Roran had defended them against the Ra'zac and then led them to Surda and relative safety. Though Roran had now understood his cousin's reasons and forgiven him, it could not be denied that Roran was closer to the people of Carvahall than Eragon would ever be. The loss was bound to affect him more.

Roran sighed, his shoulders sagging.

''It's hard. I know that I cannot decide the fate of my men in battle. That it is already a blessing that no other died. But I still feel like it is my fault. And how are you, brother ? I haven't seen you since we entered the city.''

''My masters died. I will have to go to their funeral as well. I feel like every person I get close to ends up dying.''

''I'm sorry'' offered Katrina while Roran looked at him with sympathy.

''Do you know how they died ? Were you told ?'' Roran asked.

''They were killed in battle in Gil'ead, against Galbatorix. Well, Murtagh controlled by Galbatorix.''

''When will you leave for their burial ? I'm sorry to bring that up, but the men's are not exactly all cheer, right now. If you leave suddenly... I doubt it will go down well. Especially not when it was your arrival which enabled us to win the last battle.''

''I do not know yet. I will try to wait until the last minute, but as the Leader Rider it is my right and duty to officiate at their last ceremony. And I plan to address the men tomorrow, hopefully that will be enough.''

Eragon looked searchingly at his cousin. Roran had been leading his own group of men for several months, now. Perhaps he would be able to enlighten him about the despicable behaviour he witnessed in Feinster.

''Roran, in your time as a captain, have you ever had to deal with misbehaviour ?''

''I thought I had already told you about my fight with Yarbog to earn the Urgals' respect...''

''Yes, you did. I was referring to men stealing, ransacking, the villages you conquered.''

''Oh. No, I have never had to deal with such behaviour. Well, only once. I sermonized the man, and I haven't caught any man stealing since then.'' He exchanged a glance with Katrina. ''Why did you ask ?''

''During the battle, I encountered several soldiers plundering a few houses. It is part of why I want to address the troops tomorrow. I am ready to make many sacrifices for this war, but this... Well this is not necessary. In fact, it will only cause more problems later.''

''I agree. But I only know how to manage a few men I know personally. I have no idea what could be said to convince a whole army.''

''Neither do I. I will have to find something before tomorrow...''

They all stood silent for a while, before Katrina suddenly asked if he wanted some tea. Eragon smiled gratefully, but refused. He was already running late for his meeting with the leaders. After promising to come for Orval's funeral, he left hastily to meet up with Saphira and go to Nasuada's command tent.


	2. Respect and Honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I will try to keep up with updates every two weeks ;)

When Eragon entered the tent, he observed that most of the leaders had also been summoned. Orrin was twirling the wine in his glass, while shooting angry glares at Nasuada – whether it was because of an earlier disagreement or because of the servant he had seen leaving the tent with a half-empty pitcher of wine, Eragon could not tell and did not really care. Orik welcomed him with a tip of his head and a warm smile, pointing to the seat next to him, which Eragon took quickly. He returned the smile, happy to see that his adopted brother had escaped the last battle unscathed. On Nasuada's right, he recognized Jormundur, who was busy frowning at Orrin (seated on Nasuada's other side) and had apparently not noticed his entry. Arya was, as usual, half-hidden in the shadows against the tent's wall. He made a motion with his hand to ask her to shift a little more to the left. She stared at him for a few seconds, obviously wondering the reason behind his advice, and immediately followed said advice when Saphira began pulling on the wall she was leaning on to push her head inside the tent.

'Did you really have to warn her ? I would dearly like to see an elf startled.' Saphira said.

'Well, I'll try to remember this for the next meeting.' He answered.

Meanwhile, Saphira's not-so-subtle entry had drawn everyone's attention to the fact that they had indeed arrived.

''Ah, there you are Eragon. Now we only need to wait for Triana.'' Jormundur declared, throwing one last glare at the Surdan king. Orrin mumbled a greeting before turning his gaze to his wine.

Triana arrived only a couple minutes later, her apologies cut short by Angela who pushed her inside the tent mid-phrase. Orrin looked up from his glass.

''I do not recall that we invited you to this important meeting, Herbalist.'' He said patronizingly, trying to look down at her from his seated position.

''You did not, indeed. But don't worry, I am not so full of myself that I expect you to bother a messenger for me. I'm old enough to invite myself.'' Angela reassured him while taking a seat. Eragon suppressed a smile.

''I demand you leave this tent immediately ! This is an important meeting between the leaders of this army. You have no right to seat here !'' The king barked, red-faced and half standing from his seat.

''Oh, but I'm quite curious has to what the leaders can be discussing. It is always amusing to see drowning rats struggle to get out of water, or a mouse trying to escape the cat's claws, or a few people trying to end a century-old war. As I have no idea how I would manage any of those things myself, I'm quite interested in the solutions you will find.'' Angela replied, still smiling. Then, her face hardened and she locked her gaze with the king's. ''Besides, you have no right to demand anything from me. I am not a subject of Surda, nor am I a soldier of this army. I am an independent herbalist who chose to support the Rider's cause. That support was given freely, and I have the right to take it back if I wish to.''

Eragon was surprised by her speech, but was careful not to let it show. First, it was quite rare for Angela to speak so directly and seriously – usually, it was one or the other, not both at the same time – so she probably had a personal grief against the Surdan king. And secondly, he had believed that she supported the Vardens in general, not himself personally.

'Well, in essence it does not change the situation much. I support the Vardens, and gave an oath to Nasuada. As long as she wishes to support us, the Vardens will probably benefit from her help, like her stunt before the Burning Plains.' He reasoned.

'True. But that might change after Galbatorix has met his end. Nasuada will have to release you from fealty then, if not sooner. And unlike those snails-wit from the Council, she probably realizes that I have no engagement to the Vardens. If it becomes necessary, we can and will act against Nasuada's orders.' Saphira commented.

'I know. I trust that Nasuada will never force us into such a corner, though. It would be detrimental to have such a split in the army at this point.' He glanced at Orrin. 'There is enough tension as it is.'

'I agree. But I am happy to have her on our side. She would make a formidable enemy, and we have enough of that already.'

'Angela as our enemy ? I'm not sure we would survive a week. She is completely unpredictable. Let's us hope she finds us interesting enough to remain on our side ! Besides, she is funny. Disturbing, but funny.'

'And she is very good in riddle games.' Saphira added with a decided tone.

While they were silently discussing, Nasuada had intervened, reminding of Angela's help during the Burning Plains and with the assassination attempt. Orrin finally relented after some more protesting and grumbling.

''Now that everyone is comfortably seated, I'd like to begin a full review of the troops after our conquering Feinster. Jormundur ?'' Nasuada started after making sure all the leaders were attending.

Jormundur stood up and started reading figures from a sheet in front of him. The number of dead soldiers in the Vardens and in the Surdans horse-mounted forces, the number of wounded, the severity of the wounds and how many should be able to go back to fight in the next few weeks, the name of a few dead officers they needed to replace... It went on for a full half hour. It was both boring and horrible. Boring, because Jormundur enumerated figures after figures, his voice devoid of emotion. Horrible, because Eragon almost felt as if they were discussing cattle and crops instead of men whose lives had been cut short – literally.

And yet, if they were to ever win this war, it was necessary. Everyone around the table was painfully aware of that, judging by the harden faces and frowns. Even Orrin looked troubled by the losses. Angela herself sat quietly, her face serious and her eyes full of sorrow.

Finally the list ended, to everyone's relief. The promotion of officers would be decided before addressing the troops tomorrow, and after a more thorough examination of the potential candidates. The assessment of the resources would also be discussed later, as they did not have a precise inventory at the moment. Nasuada proposed a break, realizing that everyone's spirit was low. They gratefully accepted.

Nasuada invited Eragon to join her, asking him about his prisoners. He explained his intentions to check them and then offer them a choice between joining the Vardens or remaining his prisoners until the end of the war.

''You do realize that supporting prisoners can be quite expensive, do you ?'' She asked with a raise of her eyebrows.

''I will cover most of the costs with my wages. I'm very glad you insisted I take them.'' He replied.

''Those are supposed to give you money for you to use at your leisure. And to boost the economy which has been suffering since the beginning of the war.''

''Since I intend to send the prisoners to Surda, my wages will serve your purpose. And I do not have the need to buy trinkets. Nor the time, really.'' He justified with a sigh. ''Besides, I do not ask for them to be treated like kings. They will have the same treatment as any other prisoners. But they will not be subject to any mistreatment. I gave them my word on that.''

''It was somewhat presumptuous of you to offer such a thing without consulting me.'' She remarked, but without malice.

''Was it really ? I'm a Rider. I swore fealty to you, but we both know that you will have to release me once the war is over. Perhaps you will choose to do so sooner. Anyway, if I am to help restore peace and order after this war, I need authority and independence. I cannot exist only in your shadows, nor can I undermine your own authority in front of the troops. My taking prisoners and asking for them to be well-treated does not contradict your orders, and will hopefully restore peace if I can get some allies amongst people from the Empire.'' He concluded with a half-smile.

''Alright, I understand your logic. I will see if I can spare some money for your prisoners. Or do you think they could work in Surda ? Many men left their farms to join the army...''

''My only requirement is that they are not mistreated. I'm not opposed to them earning their keep, as long as they are not treated like slaves, and are released at the end of the war.''

''That goes without saying.'' Nasuada assured him.

Soon after they ended their discussion, the meeting resumed. This time, they debated on how long they should remain in Feinster, and which town they should conquer next. It was quickly decided that they would march towards Belatona, and send men to strenghten their current position by conquering Aroughs.

Once this decision was approved by all the leaders, Nasuada asked Arya if she had had any news from the elves.

''The elves have managed to defeat the troops stationed in Gil'ead, but still have to face many raids led by supporters of the Mad King. The situation should be stable by the end of the week.'' She paused, glanced at Eragon and then at Saphira. Sensing what was coming next, Eragon stiffened. Arya continued ''Unfortunately, one of our most powerful warrior fell against the Red Rider.''

''Well, that explains why we did not see the traitor at Feinster.'' Orik commented.

Nasuada threw an annoyed look at the Dwarven king, before asking Arya about the losses in the elven forces and how they planned to proceed south.

''I have not yet had the opportunity to discuss this with my queen. I expect her to contact me again in a few days with those information, as well as the details of our warrior's funeral.''

Before anyone had the time to comment this, Eragon spoke up.

''I will attend the funeral.'' He stated firmly. ''This warrior was my master.''

Pandemonium followed his announcement. Orik, realizing who had died in battle, asked for more details about what had happened. Arya smiled sadly at him. Orrin vehemently protested against 'their Rider leaving again'. Triana wisely stayed silent. Jormundur tried to reason him, raising his voice to be heard across the table and the outcries. Angela merely raised an eyebrow, looking up from her knitting for the first time since they had resumed the meeting. Saphira puffed a cloud of smoke near Orrin, annoyed.

''ENOUGH !'' Nasuada finally screamed. Everyone stopped to look at her. ''Perhaps we could discuss more calmly'' she suggested curtly.

''There is nothing to discuss !'' started Orrin. ''The Rider cannot come and go as he pleases ! Do you realize the state the army would be in if we all acted so selfishly ? It is high time you start having a firmer hand with him, Nasuada ! If you can't, I will do it myself !'' He exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table.

Eragon raised an eyebrow, though he was boiling inside. Arya quickly hid her furious state behind her usual mask, but he and Orik had seen it. Saphira raised her head and growled at the Surdan king, who became pale. The dwarf covered his laughter by faking a cough. Angela kindly patted his back with a smile.

'I believe, King Orrin, that you need a few reminders. Eragon swore fealty to Nasuada, certainly not to you.' Saphira explained in a slow, threatening tone, and projecting her thoughts to everyone present. 'And we will attend our master's funeral. We are not asking for permission, and I do not need permission. I answer to no one, but Eragon. And if any leader gives him foolish orders, I will not hesitate to capture my rider and bring him to a place where sanity is still a value.'

''This is a war. Of course there are going to be losses. We just discussed many of them. But we cannot have our best warrior running everywhere around Alagaesia to attend the funeral of every soldiers !'' The king protested weakly, while avoiding the dragon's gaze.

''I am not asking to attend every funeral, merely one. And I do realize that the timing could be better. However, it is part of my duty as a Rider. You mostly need me as a warrior, and there should be no need for one while the troops are moving. Thorn has suffered a great wound while fighting my master, and will not be able to travel far, much less fight, for a few weeks. But you have to understand that a Rider's duties are more vast than being a powerful weapon in a war. And attending this particular funeral is as vital to my duty as helping you in battle.''

Eragon paused. He took his time to look at everyone, noticing Arya's contemplative face and Angela's interested mien. Once he was sure that everyone had listened to his arguments, he concluded.

''In the end, King Orrin, I agree with you. There is nothing to discuss about this.''

Silence reigned for several minutes, before Jormundur decided to speak.

''I understand that we cannot forbid you to attend the funeral. But, we could maybe reach a compromise if you agree to leave at the last minute and come back as soon as may be.'' He proposed slowly.

''That has always been my intentions. Like I said, I am fully aware that the timing could be better, and I will not prolong my absence unnecessarily.'' Eragon reassured the leaders with a smile.

Arya then proposed to call him once the queen contacted her, so that he and Saphira might discuss the arrangements directly with her. She also added that, if they agreed, she would travel with them to the funeral. No one dared to contest her last statement, though whether it was because they were afraid of the elf or because they did not want to start a second argument on the same subject was unclear. Eragon simply nodded in approval.

Nasuada looked at everyone, and declared that unless someone had something they wished to adress, the meeting was over. As the others were gathering their notes and starting to stand, Eragon spoke up again.

''Actually, I have a point that I would like to address.''

Everyone froze. Eragon savoured the moment before continuing.

''During the battle in Feinster, I encountered several soldiers plundering houses and stealing from the inhabitants. I do not appreciate that behaviour, and I would like to personally make my opinion known to the men tomorrow, at the end of the speech.'' He elaborated.

Again the reactions were interesting. Arya betrayed no emotion while Angela made absolutely no effort to conceal her amusement at the squirming leaders. Orrin got red but kept silent. Orik frowned, apparently disturbed by Eragon's report. But though those reaction were entertaining, the most interesting were the squirming leaders : Nasuada and Jormundur.

Eragon's eyes narrowed. There weren't many reasons that his statement could make the leaders uncomfortable, and none of them pleased him.

''I take it you were already aware of such happenings. What has been done to prevent them ?'' He asked pointedly.

Though the question was clearly aimed at Nasuada and Jormundur, it was Orrin who answered.

''Why should we do anything ? We will take some of the ressources of the town for the army anyway. As long as most of the men behave, I do not see any reason for us leaders to intervene. We have more important things to do with our time. Keeping the soldiers behaviour in check in the task of their officers. And if they consider that their men deserve some fun and reward, then so be it ! It is not a priority.'' He concluded.

''And you agree with this ?'' Eragon asked the others.

''I certainly don't. It gives an even worse image of the Vardens to the inhabitants, which mean we will have to face more riots after finally conquering a city.'' Orik stated.

''And if you allow one mouse in your granary, you soon find yourself with a full family of mice devouring all you had stored for the winter. And then you starve. Though why anyone would choose to invite the mouse in the first place baffles me.'' Angela added.

Nasuada sighed. ''We have noticed the behaviour you mention, and no, we do not approve of it. But we trust the officers to keep it at a reasonable level. Keeping order in a patched up army is hard enough, we have to be careful not to cause resentment by imposing too many rules.''

Eragon sat back, reflecting on the arguments advanced by the others. He had hoped that all would support him and give orders to completely prevent similar behaviours in the future. Obviously, that would not happen. And some arguments were sound : the leaders had to delegate some responsibility to the officers – they simply did not have the time to take care of this, especially if for such sporadic behaviour – and Roran had explained him that it had been easier to convince and discipline a handful of men he knew almost personally. Considering this, implementing more rules and harsh punishments for this could be perceived as a lack of trust by the honest soldiers and offend the officers by undermining their authority. However, Orik and himself and Saphira agreed that even those sporadic plunderings were enough to complicate the negotiations with the inhabitants of conquered cities, which might result in more losses due to riots.

And, on a more personal note, he abhorred this behaviour, and the complete lack of honour and respect that it betrayed. Plain and simple.

He finally replied, in a measured tone :

''I understand your reasoning. And I can agree with it, at least in part. But I can not say that I appreciate it. And I also agree with King Orik : these happenings, even as little numerous as they are, complicate things once the battle is over. In a long-term reflection, I would like for it to be totally erased. In a short-term reflection, however, our army is not as united as we may like, and we have to thread carefully. Therefore, I will not ask any of you to enforce new rules or punishments, or even to speak to your officers.''

His eyes burned with determination.

''But I do not wish to leave this issue unaddressed either. And I will speak to the troops tomorrow. Remind them of the reasons we are fighting, and of where they are from : the Empire. Like the inhabitants they stole from. In short, I will make my opinion clearly known. Hopefully, it will also help us directly with Feinster.''

Nasuada exchanged a glance with Jormundur, and then with Orrin, before nodding her assent. The soldiers respected and admired the Rider. His words were the most likely to initiate a modification of behaviour.

They finally declared the meeting over, and went back to their own duties. Jormundur, Nasuada and Orrin started discussing new officers and ressources, Orik went back to his people, Arya returned to her tent, Triana briefly thanked Eragon for his help in healing the soldiers after the battle. Angela waited for him outside the tent.

Curious, Eragon approached her with a smile.

''I know you like being where things happen. Did you find the meeting entertaining ?'' He asked her.

''Quite. Though I found this enumeration of casualties somewhat boring. It lacked, well, personality.'' She replied with her usual demeanour.

''What happened between you and Orrin ?'' Eragon tried, hoping he would not regret asking this particular question.

''He is a fool. And I don't like fools. They waste the air. Or the wine, in Orrin's case. But he is worse than a fool. He is an entitled fool. I do not envy you.''

''Why ? I mean: why do you not envy me ?''

''Oh, there are many reasons ! First, I've always hated altitude, so fighting on top of a dragon would have been a chore. And I like being able to do whatever I want. Plus, I have never really appreciated the elves, and you have to deal with them a lot – they never speak directly, it makes me feel like I'm fishing, and I hate fish. Also, killing Galbatorix is bound to be difficult, exhausting and time-consuming. And then you will probably spend days and days negotiating with a hundred of entitled fools to try and organize this mess.''

Eragon smiled, amused. The herbalist truly had a gift for stating the obvious in a way that was both simple and insightful.

''Well, everyone has to deal with his own problems. While I envy your freedom, I'm not sure I would prefer your fate to mine.'' He stated. ''I confess that I would be afraid of getting lost in my own mind !''

''Ah, yes ! The mind is definitely a place where people get lost easily. All those thoughts flying around can prove quite distracting. Which reminds me that I have knitting to finish and infusions to prepare. See you around, and remember to watch out for rabbits !''

She left, and Eragon shook his head while Saphira sniggered. 'Remind me to visit Angela the next time I feel down. She always amuses me.' The dragon commented.

'Indeed. And at my expense, most of the time.' He remarked

'Which only makes it more amusing.'

Eragon looked up while rolling his eyes. It was already quite late in the afternoon, and he still had to talk to the prisoners. He leapt on Saphira's back. He had removed the saddle earlier, but the flight would be short, and his leather trousers should be enough to protect his legs.

They glided to the gates of Feinster, and landed next to a house that matched the description of the soldier who had given Eragon the directions. The door was opened, but Eragon knocked anyway to announce his presence. An officer of the Vardens approached him quickly, thanking him for his coming and congratulating him for killing the Shade Varaug with Arya. He then guided him to a room where seventeen men sat against the wall. Their hands were tied, but none of them seemed to want to escape. The officer commented that they had only acted anxious, as no one had been able to tell them their fate, but they had caused no trouble.

''What do you want us to do with them, Sir ?'' The officer finally asked, curious.

''I will decide after talking to them. Could you stay ? If it goes the way I hope, it would be better to have a witness to vouch for them.''

''Sure. What are you gonna do, Sir ?''

''Simply talk to them for now.'' He replied, turning back towards the men and greeting them briefly. Then, he started.

''First, I'd like to thank you for choosing to trust me with your life in the heat of the battle. I take no pleasure in killing, and I am gald that I was able to spare your lives at least. Now, we need to decide what will happen to you until this war ends. I have two offers : you can either join the Vardens and fight against the Empire, or simply remain prisoners in Surda. If you choose to join us, I will not allow you to do so before searching your mind – to make sure you are not sworn to Galbatorix. If you choose to remain prisoners, you will go to Surda and will most likely have to work on farms until the end of this war. But I give you my word that you will not be mistreated in any way. And whatever you choose, if the Vardens win this war, I will do my best to ensure that you get back the lands or houses that were yours in the first place.''

He waited for them to assimilate all this before concluding : ''Of course, each one of you can – and should – decide separately.''

The men remained silent for a while, exchanging looks. Finally, one spoke up.

''Say we decide to join your army : will we be accepted by your soldiers ? And will we be paid ? Will we keep our current rank ?'' Eragon recognized the man as a young lieutenant who had surrendered to him with the three men he was with when he encountered the Rider in Feinster.

''Many in the Vardens are people who fled the Empire. If you join, the only difference between you and them will be that you joined later than most of them. And I will vouch for you, if not command you directly. Therefore, you will receive the same wages the other men do. Concerning your ranks, I give you no guarantee : you may have to start as a simple soldier at first, or we may give you some men to test your skills as an officer. That decision will depend on many factors, and not all of them are within my hands. Does it answer your questions ?''

''Yes, it does. I can give you my answer right now : I want to fight. I have no love for the Mad King, but I am loyal to Lady Lorana. She trusted you, and so shall I. You may search my mind now if you want.'' The man claimed, straightening up.

''I thank you. Before this though, I would like to know your name.'' Eragon said with a warm smile.

''Teskin. Teskin, son of Terndor.''

Eragon nodded, and then delicately entered the mind of the lieutenant. He tried to make it as quick and painless as possible, and not intrude too far in the man's privacy. Once he was sure that the man had told him the truth and was a decent fighter, he retired.

''You are clean, Teskin, son of Terndor. I will try to encourage Nasuada to give you a few men to test you, and you may soon earn back your rank. But it will be on your skills alone. I will not nominate for a position you are unable to shoulder.'' He then knelt in front of Teskin and cut his ties.

The three men that had surrendered with Teskin quickly followed the example of their officer, and he released them. A man asked for more details about how they would be treated as prisoners, and then chose to remain one. He had no love for the king, but no wish to end human lives either.

In the end, eight men decided to join the Vardens, which was more than Eragon had hoped. The nine others would remain prisoners, either because they had no wish to fight or because they did not want Eragon to search their minds.

'If I had not been a Rider, and someone had given me the same choice I gave them, what would I have chosen ?' he wondered.

'You do realize you are not the same boy you were when I first hatched, don't you ? And your cousin Roran changed a lot, too. Rider or not, the war would have changed you. And in the end, I believe you would have chosen to fight for your freedom and your loved ones.' Saphira answered softly.

After asking the Vardens officer to give Nasuada the letter he had written – where he recapitulated the different men choices and his recommendation for Teskin – Eragon bid them all good night. He was exhausted, and he did not look forward to his speech on the morrow.

Like the night before, he dreamed. Voices called out to him and Saphira, but he could not see where he was nor remember where he had heard those voices before, though they sounded extremely familiar. When he awoke, Saphira was as disturbed as he was. It was the second time they shared a dream, and she too was unable to place the voices. As there was no obvious explanations and Eragon was worried about talking to the troops – he really hated making speeches – they decided not to think about it for now. There would be time to reflect on this mystery later, if it proved necessary. After all, as odd as the dream was, it did not give the same feel his previous prophetic dreams had.

Eragon was about to utter the spell he used to shave when he heard his cousin's voice from outside the tent.

''Eragon ? Can I come in ?''

''Yes, of course''

Roran entered and, observing that his near-brother was only half-dressed, remarked :

''And I thought you were an early riser ! You used to be the one to wake me in the mornings. I hated seeing you so cheery in the mornings.''

''It is not that late. I stayed up later that I expected yesterday. There was a lot to do. But why did you rise so early ?'' Eragon replied, smiling at their banter. He had missed their closeness. And in many ways, Roran was the only one he trusted on a personal level – besides Saphira of course – the only one he could fully confide in without fear of judgement.

''As the leaders will address the men in the afternoon, we decided to have Orval's last ceremony this morning. It will start in about an hour, and Gertrude will officiate it. They are preparing the body as we speak.'' He explained. ''Will you attend ?''

''I will. Can you wait for me ? I shall be ready in a few minutes.''

Eragon quickly selected some of his best clothes, suitable for both the ceremony and the speech. He quickly whispered his shaving spell, to which his cousin raised an eyebrow.

''That's quite handy. Is that how the elves shave ? I have yet to see a beard on one of your guards.''

''Elves do not have a beard, so they don't need to shave.'' Eragon explained as he took Brisingr and secured it around his waist. ''And it turned out that I'm not as skilled with a razor as I am with a sword, so I came up with that spell.'' He felt his ears redden. Without really knowing why, he felt ashamed of admitting to his cousin that he did not know how to use a razor.

Roran seemed to recognize his discomfort.

''Well, when you have some time, I can show you if you want. I barely had any beard before leaving to Therinsford, but Dad taught me – said there was no use earning enough money to court a woman if I had scars all over my face.'' He offered. Eragon accepted gratefully, before announcing that he was ready.

When they arrived, Gertrude quickly came towards them.

''Eragon, Katrina told me that you made rings for her and Roran. Can you create something with silver ? We do not have any amulet to give Orval, and it seems this tradition does not exist in Surda. No one understood what I was asking for. We cannot bury him without it.'' She explained breathlessly.

''I can, but it would help if you had a drawing of what exactly the amulet must look like.''

''Don't worry, I expected that much.'' She replied, giving him a sheet covered of drawings representing the traditional amulet from all angles.

With a nod, Eragon put one knee on the ground, gathering the silver in the ground until he had enough, and then molded it slowly, often looking at the drawings to be as accurate as possible. It was the last gift he would ever be able to give Orval. Next to him, Gertrude and Roran watched in silence.

The ceremony was short, but no less emotional. As he had been unable to attend his uncle's – 'father' he corrected himself – funeral, Eragon felt as if he was burying Orval, Garrow and his own childhood at the same time. It was not the first funeral Eragon attended since leaving Carvahall, but it was the first which moved him so. Because he had known Orval since his childhood – everyone knew everyone in a small village like Carvahall had been – and because this funeral followed his traditions. Not the Dwarves's, not the Surdan's, not the Urgal's. Simply Carvahall's old and odd traditions from the Palancar Valley. He could feel that Saphira herself mourned. Not really for Orval, but because Carvahall represented her childhood as well.

Afterwards, the villagers parted. Usually, there would have been a small banquet where people would exchange stories of the man's life. With the war though, this was unpractical, and all returned to their tents in small groups.

Noticing the sun was now quite high in the sky, Eragon hurried to Nasuada's tent, where the dark-skinned woman congratulated him on gaining them eight more fighters. When Orrin arrived, the three of them discussed extending Eragon's offer to all the prisoners. Theoretically, it was a great idea, as it would lessen the number of prisoners to support while increasing their army numbers. It might even help them settle things in Feinster quicker. Eragon cautionned that all volunteers' minds would have to be checked, and he would not be able to do it alone. He also suggested discussing it with Lady Lorana, and perhaps ask the reformed men – like Teskin – to present the offer to future prisoners. Orrin and Nasuada approved – Lady Lorana had proved to be an honourable leader, and mostly supported the Vardens despite her forced allegiance to the king.

By the time their improvised meeting ended, the men had gathered in front of the makeshift stage. Nasuada, Orrin, Orik and Garhzvog each addressed the army. Jormundur then called out the names of the new officers. Eragon was only half-listening, but smiled when he heard Teskin's name. The man had been given a sub-officer position, and he was confident in his abilites after seeing them in his mind. Eragon expected him to quickly rise back to the rank of lieutenant, and probably earned a couple more ranks before the end of the war. He hoped Teskin would be able to serve as an example and help him restore peace and order after Galbatorix's death.

Finally, it was Eragon's turn to speak. His mouth dried, and his mind went blank. What could he say to convince a crowd ?

'You know the message you want to give them : Respect. All these men look up to you. Speak from your heart. They will not judge you on your eloquence.' Saphira's soft voice permeated his thoughts.

'Or lack thereof...' He replied. But her words had been enough to shake him out of his stupor.

He took a couple steps forward. He waited for the men to become silent, using this moment to gather his ideas. Then he began, his voice clear and firm :

''I am not really good at speeches. Two years ago, I was simply a farm boy, like many of you.'' He made a gesture in the general direction of Feinster and the Empire. ''Like many of them. I want you all to survive this war, but I also want these people we fight today to become our allies, our friends, once the king's head falls to the ground. And that will not be possible if we do not treat them with respect.''

He paused. He doubted he could explain them all his philosophy. And they probably would not have the patience to sit through it all anyway.

''Circumstances are forcing us to fight and kill them. But we can, and we must, subdue them without mistreating them. Do not steal from their houses. Do not abuse their wives or daughters. Do not unnecessarily offend the people who might be your neighbours in a couple of years.''

He looked at the soldiers who had fallen silent during the last part of his speech. ''Thank you.''


	3. Echoing Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!  
> I will update in a fortnight ;-)

Eragon was disturbed. In his mind, he felt Saphira's annoyance as she once again searched through his and hers memories. Like the three previous attempts, she failed to find the owners of the voices who had been disturbing their dreams for four nights in a row.

 

Once the speech and the meetings were all done, the troops had started to gather and inventorize the resources, rest and prepare for the long march to Belatona. They would not depart for a few more days, and though the men were still alert, they were happy to have some time to simply sleep and heal.

 

Eragon would probably have been in much the same state of mind, if his sleep had not been systematically disturbed by those voices. And they seemed to grow stronger and clearer every night.

 

Unlike his few previous prophetic dreams, there was only sound, and they did not leave him with a feeling of doom. In fact, these voices, though pressing, did not feel threatening at all. If they were not disturbing his well-deserved rest, he would probably trust them.

 

'It feels like someone attempting to contact us.' Saphira concluded.

 

'Well, then, it is only a one-way discussion. No matter how much I screamed at them to just shut up and let us sleep, they did not react.' Eragon answered exasperatedly.

 

'I still have a headache because of that. Since you now admit that screaming is stupid, will you promise me to refrain from doing it again tonight?' she asked in a growl.

 

Eragon sighed. 'I promise. And perhaps we will actually have a silent night.' Saphira did not comment. Neither of them actually had faith in his last statement.

 

They heard a noise behind them, and when they turned they saw Arya running towards them. They had left the camp early to go flying and clear their heads, and had now been sitting side by side near a small lake for nearly two hours. Since they had almost nothing to do while they waited for news from Islanzadi, they had decided to go farther from the army than usual.

 

Arya finally reached them and stopped her course. From her face, Eragon guessed that she had not come for a friendly discussion.

 

''I thought you had promised to stop leaving your guard behind? This must be the third time you went away on your own in less than a week.'' She stated, arching an eyebrow.

 

''I am perfectly aware of that. But Saphira and I needed some time to reflect on... well, many things. Sorry.'' He answered with an unapologetic smile.

 

She sat near them with a sigh. ''If there is one thing I know about you, it is that you are even more stubborn than an elf. I will not waste energy trying to convince you to relinquish your rides so far from the camp. Blödhgarm hoped you would listen to me, but we both know you will not.''

 

Eragon nodded gratefully. He had no wish to quarrel with her now: he was tired, and he had more pressing matter to consider than his leaving the camp for a few hours to a perfectly safe place.

 

''Do you want to share your reflections?'' Arya asked after a few minutes of companionable silence.

 

Eragon thought about it for a while. He trusted Arya, but he did not want to tell anyone about those voices. In fact the idea of telling someone besides Saphira made him feel like he was about to break an important agreement. Or rather a promise. An agreement felt too impersonal.

 

Unable to shake off the feeling, he decided to talk about other, equally distressing problems.

 

''I am worried about Glaedr. I don't think I could survive losing Saphira. Even if dying with her meant abandoning Alagaesia, I cannot say that I would choose my duty above her. And if I did, I doubt I would be sane enough to do said duty.'' He explained, his gaze resting on the water in front of him.

 

'I would choose Eragon.' Saphira stated simply.

 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Arya nodding slowly, her forehead slightly creased.

 

''I will not pretend that I fully understand your reasoning. Though I am no stranger to loss, I do not think that I can comprehend one that would affect me so deeply. I have always thought of the bond between Rider and Dragon as an extremely close friendship. Knowing you and Saphira though, I have come to realize that it is something else.''

 

She paused. ''As for Glaedr, perhaps avenging his rider will give him the will to keep going until Galbatorix's death. And his love for you two. You were his last and most cherished students.''

 

Saphira looked up, surprised. 'How do you know this? Our training was rushed, we did not spend even half the time students should have with their masters with him and Oromis.''

 

Arya smiled. ''He gave you his Eldunari.'' she stated simply.

 

Eragon turned his gaze back to the water. Yes, Glaedr had chosen to give them his heart of heart. Saphira and him were aware of the significance of such a gift. But even in this choice, there had been practical considerations: a way for them and their masters to remain in contact, to share energy if necessary, to offer advice. While Eragon could not refute these arguments – and he would not deny that they had played a significant part in his and Saphira's acceptance – they made him somewhat uneasy. Being a part of Saphira's mind, feeling their bond all the time, it disturbed him that the golden dragon's choice had not been strictly personal.

 

When he voiced his thoughts to Arya, she answered: ''I understand your doubts. But in the end, you should remember that it was _his_ choice. He probably thought about it for a long time, discussed it with Oromis... And, as you said, these arguments' purpose were also to convince you. I doubt they were his only reasons. Perhaps one day you will be able to ask him.''

 

''I fear that I will fail him. And Oromis. It was soothing to know that I was not the only Rider. Now we are alone again, and I no longer feel prepared for the task ahead. How am I supposed to accomplish a task none of the old, experienced Riders managed?''

 

Arya looked at him and the dragon, obviously disturbed. ''I don't know.'' she finally admitted. ''As you know, I was a child during the Fall. I have not really met any of the old Riders, besides Oromis.''

 

She straightened her posture, looking him in the eyes. ''But what I do know is that we need you to hope. Hope until there is absolutely no hope left. If strength was only measured in years, a young Rider like Galbatorix would never have been able to best the Order. You do not need to become stronger than him. You only have to find a weakness and exploit it.''

 

Her voiced softened. ''And you do not have to be alone for this task.''

 

For some minutes, the only sound to be heard was the wind and the small waves breaking at their feets. The elf's words had roused him out of his depressed thoughts. He was confident he would have snapped out of them sooner or later, but much had happened over the last few days and the world had looked grim no matter where he turned. And there was still hope: perhaps the Rock of Kuthian would help him in his quest – if he ever found it, of course.

 

''What will you do? When this war is over I mean.'' He suddenly asked Arya.

 

It was her turn to search for an answer. ''I am not sure. I will help with the aftermath. I would like to keep my role as ambassador. But, like you – and unlike most of my people – I have never lived in a world of peace. Purpose is easy to find during a war – too easy perhaps. You choose a side to support, and try to survive and win. What would I do in a time of peace? A few years from now, all the species of Alagaesia will once again communicate and commerce. There will still be need for ambassadors, but I do not think I want to spend the rest of my long life discussing weather and taxes. I will do my duty, and hopefully I will develop an interest in something along the way.''

 

''Ellesmera is quite peaceful. Have you found no such interest in your times there?'' He asked, praying that she would not shut down at the personal question.

 

She did not. ''I have not spent much time in our city, and usually remained there for no more than a few weeks. And whenever I am there, I am still an ambassador, bearing the sad news of the world outside the forest. Sometimes, it felt like the elves had forgotten the war raging in Alagaesia. I confess it has often made me feel like an outsider in my own birthplace. I found a few interests, like anyone else. But none have ever triggered a passion like Rhunon's.''

 

'That elf is crazy.' Saphira laughed.

 

''I believe she would prefer the word 'genius'.'' Arya said with a growing smile.

 

''I am not sure of that. She reminds me of Angela. And I have no doubt _she_ would consider being called crazy as one of the best compliments!'' Eragon added.

 

They all laughed. The joke was not especially funny, but after the depressing events of the last few days and the emotional discussion, it was an incredible relief to have a reason to laugh.

 

''And what about you and Saphira ? I know you liked your life in Carvahall, but I doubt Saphira would like spending the rest of her life plowing fields and watching wheat grow...'' The elf declared, her eyes still sparkling with laughter. Eragon had rarely seen her so carefree. Perhaps the recent events had convinced her that life was short and she needed to retrieve some of the happiness she lost in Gil'Ead.

 

Remembering her question, he regretted that he had broached the subject in the first place. Angela's prophecy and the soldiers' curse echoed in his mind.

 

''I am not sure either. I want to kill Galbatorix, but more than that I want to save the Dragons. Even if we retrieve the last egg, it will not be enough to rebuild the Dragons, not to mention the Riders. I promised Saphira that, once peace was restored, we would travel and search for other dragons beyond the borders of Alagaesia.'' He paused, before deciding to share all his worries on this particular subject. She had trusted him with personal information, after all. ''And I am not sure I will return to Alagaesia.''

 

Clearly, Arya had not expected this answer.

 

''Why? Do you think that you will not be able to find dragons and spend the rest of your lives searching? Or do you think you will establish yourself with them, rather than return to the land you freed?'' She gazed into his eyes for a long moment, trying to find out his reasoning. She must have found something, because she continued softly : ''Did you suffer that much that you have no wish to remain on this land once your duty is done ?''

 

Eragon startled. So, that was what she had seen in his eyes: pain. He thought about it. The belief that he would leave forever came from Angela's prophecy – everything had happened so far. Leaving to search for more dragons had slowly become the most logical reason to his future departure. But he had never really reflected on the reasons Saphira and him would have to stay away once they had found them.

 

Because he was unable to voice the thoughts running through his mind, Saphira decided to do it in his stead.

 

'Would there really be a point for us to return? If there are dragons somewhere in this world, they must be far away from here. By the time we reached them, everyone we know would be old, or dead. If all the people important to us are no longer here, it would not truly be our birthplace any more. If we did return, we would be strangers in our own land.'

 

''And that might be more painful than simply staying away and relishing old memories.'' Eragon concluded.

 

By voicing his reasoning, he felt strangely at peace. He knew he had changed since the day he found Saphira's egg, and that he would change again before the end of this war. One simply could not go through so much and retain the aspirations of a farm boy. He did not know when Saphira and him would leave Alagaesia. They may stay for several years after peace was restored, to enjoy their friends and family without the constant fear of death. They may even make short, preparing trips before leaving for good.

 

But allowing himself to truly reflect on it, he realized that he would not really lose much from this decision: his family would not live as long as him, whether he left or not would not make any difference; Carvahall was already destroyed, and his status as Rider meant that he would never be a real part of the rebuilt village – he agreed with Arya that Saphira would never agree to plowing fields for the rest of her life. All in all, a few decades from now, he would become a stranger to the people of Alagaesia.

 

He dared not voice it, but the only person he would have to abandon was Arya herself. That would probably be his main regret.

 

''So, you will not recreate the Order?'' Arya asked him after a while.

 

''At best, the new Order would have two Riders.'' Eragon remarked with a small smile. ''But once we find dragons, why not? But then, I believe we will have had our fill of battles and travels. I think we will be content to simply train future Riders and Dragons.''

 

Arya leaned back, fixing her gaze on the clouds. ''It is strange. Though I knew, rationally, that there weren't enough eggs left, I have always thought of the restoration of the Order as the ultimate symbol of the end of this war. Yet, listening to your reasoning, I can only agree with you two. I feel like my mind betrayed me.''

 

''I am sorry.'' He responded.

 

''It is not your fault.''

 

''I know.''

 

She glanced at him, somewhat exasperated. She relaxed when she noticed his teasing smile.

 

''Many elves will be disappointed. You will deprive them of their favourite inspiration for poems and ballads.'' She warned with a tinkling laugh.

 

''Yes, but Saphira flies too fast for them to chase after us!'' Saphira flapped her wings in agreement.

 

Again, they fell silent, laying in the grass and gazing at the clouds. Eragon remembered his discussion with Saphira after he returned from Helgrind. He laughed.

 

Seeing Arya's curious look, he explained ''After Helgrind, I told Saphira that I was sick of discussing morals and fate, that it felt like those kind of discussions were bound to make people depressed. Yet, it seems I am unable to discuss anything else when I have nothing to do!'' He shook his head in self-derision, while Saphira struggled to keep her laughter in, less she burned the grass in front of her. Arya smiled.

 

''I have had my own share of depressing ruminations – as you well know. I quite agree with you that over-thinking things can be counter-productive. But sharing those same thoughts is sometimes liberating.'' She raised on her left side, catching his eyes. ''I believe you feel more at peace now than when I found you, glaring at this lake like it was the sole responsible of your hardships.''

 

''I do. Thank you, by the way.''

 

She shook her head, lying back down on the grass. ''You are the one who taught it to me. After your trip in the Empire.''

 

She sat up again, gathering grass and starting to knit.

 

'Another boat?' Saphira asked, lifting one scaly eyelid.

 

''I don't know yet.''

 

'Did you encounter any aggressive rabbits lately?' the dragoness enquired.

 

Arya's frenetic hands stilled. ''Why are you talking about rabbits?''

 

'You are knitting.' was Saphira's only reply. Though she was careful not to show her emotions, Eragon could feel through their bond that she was quite amused and wanted to tease the elf. He suppressed a smile, and sent a feeling of agreement to Saphira.

 

''And how are knitting and rabbits related?'' the elf asked, still bemused. Eragon noticed that her hands were moving again.

 

'I don't know.'

 

Arya glanced at Eragon, who was trying to keep his face expressionless. ''Don't ask me. I don't know either.'' He said.

 

Still glaring at Saphira's smugness, the elf asked him about his prisoners.

 

''You never did that in the previous battles. After your decision with Katrina's father, I am not really surprised, but I do wonder.''

 

Eragon sat up and explained his motivations, like he had done with Saphira and Nasuada. The elf nodded, picking more grass.

 

''Again, I do not understand why you choose to complicate your task, which is hard enough already. But I see that it is important for you. As long as you do not allow this to distract you from your real purpose.''

 

''It won't. Trust me.'' Eragon interrupted her, annoyed. He had appreciated this exchange so far, and was disappointed to see the elf retreat behind her usual mask again. He knew his tone had been harsh, but he couldn't help it.

 

She sighed. ''I hurt you. I am sorry. It seems I have a hard time accepting that you no longer are the farm boy I first met.''

 

Eragon shrugged. ''It's all right.''

 

The elf stopped the movements of her fingers, and stared at the result. Eragon tried to look at it from the side, but was unsuccessful. Arya's expression did not give him any indication of whether or not she was pleased with her work.

 

Finally she released a long sigh and turned towards Saphira. ''I suppose I have you to blame for that.'' she declared, displaying the small figurine she had knitted.

 

A rabbit. With a strange smirk that made it look vicious.

 

Saphira threw her head back, laughing and fire coming out of her mouth. The air grew hot, as the dragonness kept laughing, sending him images of an army of Arya's figurines attacking Angela. Eragon shook his head in silent laughter.

 

When she finally calmed, Saphira suggested: 'You should offer it to Angela. She has been quite fascinated by rabbits lately.'

 

''She seems to delight in the absurd.'' the elf commented.

 

And then she whispered a few words, animating the small rabbit which started to bounce towards the blue dragon and leapt on her head. Saphira tried to catch it, but failed as the rabbit was quick and very small.

 

'Make it stop!' Saphira mentally roared to her snickering Rider.

 

'You know I don't know the spell she used.' He replied, attempting to control his laughter. He had nearly managed when Arya flashed him a big, falsely innocent smile. 'But I'm sure Angela would be happy to knit you a rabbit-proof scarf.'

 

'If you do not stop it, I will convince her to teach _you_ how to knit. She has always had some sort of a soft spot for you, after all.' The irritated dragon threatened.

 

Eragon stopped laughing. 'You wouldn't.'

 

'I would.'

 

'Arya is the one who made up this spell! Why aren't you threatening her?' Eragon tried.

 

The dragon stopped chasing the infuriating figurine, thinking. Eragon held his breath.

 

'You're right. What punishment would be most appropriate in your opinion?'

 

'I'd rather not be a part of whatever you decide.'

 

'Coward.'

 

'No. Wise.'

 

Saphira turned towards Arya who was looking at them suspiciously. Though exchange of thoughts was faster than normal discussion, they had remained silent long enough for the elf to notice. Eragon sighed with relief. There would be no crazy herbalist chasing him with knitting needles. Or carrions in his tent.

 

Arya raised an eyebrow, waiting for one of them to speak up. Saphira raised her head with as much dignity as she could with a small green rabbit bouncing around it.

 

'I truly like you Arya. So you should take what I am about to do as a great compliment.' The dragon stated. Her eyes held a malicious glint.

 

It was perhaps the first time Eragon had ever seen an elf look visibly apprehensive.

 

'You will go offer this rabbit to Angela, and ask her for a full explanation of why rabbits are dangerous.'

 

Arya's eyebrow raised higher. ''And if I don't? This rabbit was a punishment for infuriating me. If you punish me for punishing you, this cycle will never end.''

 

'I am not punishing you. I am offering you a lesson.'

 

''A lesson on rabbits? From Angela?''

 

'No, a lesson from me: never infuriate a dragon.'

 

Arya nodded and remained silent. Saphira seemed quite pleased with herself, but Eragon noticed that the elf had not actually promised anything. He did not point it out to Saphira though. For now, he decided it was safer to remain neutral. And it would be fun to tease her later with her oversight.

 

''Would you like to duel, this afternoon? If you have nothing else to do.'' the elf asked suddenly. ''I find myself quite restless too, and some action might do us good. Otherwise, I fear we will find ourselves depressing each other with our discussions and divergent opinions and beliefs.''

 

''It's a good idea. And I have long wanted a rematch with you. One where I actually have a chance.'' He acknowledged with a smile.

 

''Then I will see you in one hour?'' Arya stated as she got up.

 

Saphira raised her head, the small rabbit still bouncing around her incessantly. 'Aren't you forgetting something?' she asked the elf.

 

She flashed a brilliant smile to the dragon. ''Consider it a gift from a friend.'' And she started to run toward the camp.

 

Eragon sniggered at his dragon's mock outrage, before whispering a spell to stop the small figurine. Ignoring her mental reproach for not doing it sooner, he commented.

 

'Arya is more open. Sad from Oromis' death, but even in Ellesmera, I do not remember her being so… cheerful?' He was not sure that was the best word to describe the elf, but he had a hard time believing the last few minutes had actually happened, so precise language was not foremost in his thoughts.

 

'I agree. She almost died when fighting the Shade, perhaps this experience has convinced her to live again. She did say that she used to smile and laugh easily.'

 

'Or Gil'Ead's fall at the hands of her own people has helped her let go of the bad memories.'

 

'Or both.' The dragon remarked.

 

'Or both.' Eragon admitted. 'You really hate not having the last word, don't you?' He added with a smile.

 

'I am the last Free Dragon. I cannot decently lose two battles in one day.'

 

'I am already impressed that you admit defeat at all!'

 

She pushed him in the water, then innocently started grooming her claws. Eragon shrugged and swam around for a while, delighting in the fresh water and the rare privacy they had on this day.

 

'In the end, we did not tell her anything about the dreams.' He remembered

 

'We _couldn't_ would be more accurate.'

 

'Why? I was able to talk to her about seeing her while she was imprisoned. About Solembum's advice. None of my previous dreams had this effect. So what is different with this one?'

 

'Perhaps she is not supposed to know about this. Or at least _they_ don't want anyone – even people we trust – to know about these dreams.'

 

She did not have to define who _they_ were. Eragon agreed that these dreams felt more like a communication than a real prophetic dream. But it worried him that he was so helpless against these strangers' wishes.

 

'Do you think it could be Galbatorix? Attempting to enslave us by attacking our minds while we are asleep?'

 

Eragon knew, as he voiced his fears, that it was unlikely. The voices had not ordered him to do anything, and the necklace given by the dwarves would have prevented such attempts. It could not protect his mind, but Galbatorix should not be able to locate him. But then, it should also prevent similar attempts from other people. So, how did _they_ managed it?

 

'It is not Galbatorix. And I can't believe it is an enemy. But I think we should agree not to let them influence us any further until we know what they expect from us. They could turn out to be powerful allies, or simply people in need of some help.' Saphira stated.

 

Eragon sent her feelings of his approval. 'We should return to the tent, or we will be late to our duel.'

 

'Your duel. I am not very good at sword-wielding.'

 

'Must be the claws.' Eragon commented with his most serious look.

 

Saphira nodded thoughtfully. 'Probably.'

 

 

Some time later, Eragon was spelling his sword to prevent it from cutting during the duel. When the soldiers saw Arya arrive and do the same with her own sword, they all stopped their training and settled down to watch. With his sharp hearing, Eragon heard some Vardens sharing the story of their first duel to Orrin's men.

 

'I suppose I should have guessed that we would have an audience. Well, at least they won't expect me to talk.' He thought before turning to ask Arya if she was ready.

 

She nodded. They started to circle around each other, both aware that this duel would be quite different from the one in Farthen Dur.

 

Eragon watched his opponent closely. Though he now had the physical strength of an elf, Arya had had many more years to refine her skills and he had never had the opportunity to truly observe her technique before. Therefore, he determined to let her attack first.

 

Apparently, she was determined _not_ to open the duel and the first minutes turned into a battle of wills and patience. Eragon glanced at their spectators, who seemed unable to breath. The look did not even last half a second, but it was enough to convince the elf of his lack of attention.

 

She covered the distance between them with a quick jump and attacked his right side. He sidestepped and retaliated, feigning at her shoulder before making a stab at her leg. She batted Brisingr away and stepped back.

 

They continued in the same manner for several minutes, their movements increasing in speed as they assessed each other's technique. It was, in appearances, quite similar to their duel in Farthen Dur except that no one was playing with the other, and the speed was far greater. Eragon briefly wondered how the soldiers could find the duel so fascinating when they probably had trouble following it.

 

Finally, Arya managed to trick him with a feint: she aimed at his stomach, and suddenly rotated her wrist to strike his leg. The pain distracted him for a second and the elf pointed her sword at his chest. The soldiers cheered, and he spied more than a few exchanging money. Apparently, the duel had been long enough to allow them to place bets on the winner.

 

''I put more strength than I should have. I did not break your leg?'' She asked as she quickly lowered her weapon.

 

''Don't worry, you mostly hurt my pride. Though, without magic, I would probably have quite a bruise. Would you mind a re-match?'' He quickly healed his leg and raised his blue sword.

 

Arya smiled her acceptance and raised her sword again.

 

The second duel was similar to the first one. This time however, Eragon forced Arya to make quick turns in every directions, and his strategy paid off a few minutes later. Her black strands covered her left eye after he made her violently turn her head to the right. While she was partially blinded by her hair, he slipped by her side and put the point of his sword against her neck.

 

''I confess I have always wondered why you did not tie your hair for battles.'' Eragon commented.

 

Meanwhile, the men cheered again and more money was exchanged.

 

''Be assured that from now on, I will. Are you up for one more duel?''

 

The third duel started as the others had. As the movements of the duel had sent them apart, Eragon felt an odd sensation, similar to when he fully merged with Saphira's mind and abandoned his own body.

 

But he did not leave his body. Though he was not sure he was still the one controlling it. And what was even stranger was the fact that he felt no fear at the situation.

 

Suddenly, as Arya prepared to strike, he was back in control. His mind exceptionally clear, he moved forward. Rather than attempt to strike the elf's body, he knocked hard on Arya's sword with his own and used the momentum to jump over her. At the height of the jump, he kicked her in the back, then landed and tripped her before she could recover. Instead of straightening up, he used his knees to immobilize her limbs.

 

The sensation fully disappeared, leaving Eragon confused. This move was one he had never seen, much less practised. It had been brutal, but deadly accurate. If he had to say what the move reminded of, he would answer deer hunting.

 

Deer hunting as a dragon. Adapted to a human – or elven – body.

 

He reach for Saphira with his mind, as he slowly got up. 'Was it you?'

 

'No. But I felt it too.'

 

He turned his attention back to Arya extending a hand to help her up. She ignored it, slowly raising, her gaze fixed on his eyes.

 

''What is it?'' He asked nervously. He was not sure he wanted to discuss what had just happened. Had it been obvious that he had not been in his normal state of mind? The Vardens did not need rumours that their Rider was going insane!

 

The elf's gaze did not waver. With a voice devoid of emotions, she simply declared. ''Your eyes were blue.''

 

Eragon did not attempt to hide his surprise – with his confusion, the elf would have seen through the deception anyway. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He did not know what to say.

 

''Let me through, let me through!''

 

He turned towards the crowd. A man was elbowing his way through it. He recognized Albriech. He stopped a couple of times, whispering quickly to the people of Carvahall he encountered.

 

Relieved to have a reason to escape Arya's gaze, and worried about the news he had to share, he marched towards the man.

 

''What is happening, Albriech?''

 

''Mother's pains have begun. Help me gather everyone.''


	4. Summons from the Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Enjoy chapter 4 ^^

''Mother's pains have begun. Help me gather everyone.''

Eragon nodded. ''I will be right there. Do you have many people to inform left? Does Gertrude need herbs for Elain? I know the herbalist who accompanies the Vardens.''

Albriech shrugged. ''I don't know if Gertrude has all she needs already – she couldn't bring all her preparations and ingredients when we abandoned Carvahall. She is at mother's side. You should go ask her. I can finish gathering everyone.''

''Eragon'' Arya intervened. ''I have assisted women from the Vardens during childbirth several times. If you need any help…''

Albriech frowned immediately. Eragon forced a small smile. The elf meant well, but the people of Carvahall would not tolerate her presence at such a time. Apparently, she did not realize the hold stories could have over people living deep in the empire.

And he was not sure he wanted to give Arya the opportunity to question him about what had happened during the duel so soon. He needed time to reflect on it with Saphira.

''I thank you for your offer, Arya Svit-kona. But I have faith in Gertrude's skills – she delivered me and countless others – and this is a time that should be reserved for family.'' He replied with a formal tone.

''I understand, Eragon Shurtugal. I shall be at your disposal if additional help becomes necessary.''

He bowed slightly in acknowledgement, but internally prayed that no such help would be needed. If the child's or mother's life was threatened, it would be hard enough to convince the villagers to let him intervene – no man was allowed in during childbirth. Elain was just as stubborn as anyone else from Carvahall, and would probably choose death over help from an elf.

Eragon jogged towards the blacksmith's tent, Saphira following him in the sky. He was glad that the children of Carvahall had played with the dragon in the past, when Nasuada had organized this dinner weeks ago. He knew this had gone a long way in making the villagers accept his winged partner. No one would question her presence today.

Baldor was sitting just outside the tent, greeting the villagers as they arrived – though most were still on their way. Eragon reassured him that the others were not far behind him, coming back from the training ground, and then asked how things were going so far.

''Mother felt the first pains about an hour ago, so the actual birth will not begin for a few more hours.'' The young man replied, his knee bouncing rhythmically.

''Is Gertrude with her?'' Eragon enquired. ''I know someone in the Vardens who could provide her with more herbs. If she needs them.''

He turned as he heard the tent open behind his back.

''So, there is an herbalist in the Vardens? I couldn't find one… When the time is more appropriate, you will have to introduce us, Eragon.'' Gertrude said as she greeted him with a small smile.

''How is Elain?'' Eragon asked.

''She is well. It is not her first child, though there has been much more stress than usual. Horst is with her. You can go in too if you want, Baldor.'' She paused and turned back to the Rider. ''If I give you a list now, how long will it take you to go see this herbalist and come back? If possible, I would like to have everything before the birth truly begins.''

''I run fast.'' Eragon replied simply.

Gertrude's slight frown became a wide smile and she hurried back in the tent. From the noise he heard inside, he easily guessed that she was checking her ingredients and writing down the herbs she needed.

A couple minutes later, Eragon was running around the camp, belatedly realizing that he did not know where Angela's tent was. He reached out with his mind while Saphira observed from above, both trying to locate the herbalist.

They finally found her at the limit between the Vardens and the dwarves.

''Well, this is an unexpected visit. What brings you here in such a hurry?''

She was stirring something in a wide pot, Solembum carefully watching the flames underneath.

''A woman from my hometown is about to give birth. Our healer could not bring as many herbs as she wanted when they decided to leave Carvahall.'' Eragon explained, handing her the list.

She grabbed it and started to read it while absentmindedly adding a purple powder to her mixture. Eragon watched the heavy smoke that immediately rose from the pot, wondering whether he should hold his breath or not. He opened his mouth to ask the herbalist what she was preparing, glanced down at the mixture again and closed his mouth.

Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

'Try not to breath it, though.' Saphira advised him.

''I have some of these.'' Angela started. ''Unfortunately, most are plants that grow only in the north of Alagaesia. Don't worry, though: there are plants with almost identical effects which I can give you. I will write down the names and instructions to prepare the herbs your healer is not familiar with.''

She reached behind her, tore a piece of parchment from a tainted scroll and started to scribble away, using her knee as a support. Meanwhile, Eragon greeted Solembum.

''I heard you duelled with Arya.'' Angela remarked, rising from her stool and gathering the herbs.

''News travel fast.'' Eragon commented, rolling his eyes. The training ground was on the other side of the camp, and the duel had finished less than a half hour ago.

Angela shook her head. ''Only those very interesting. Or those completely uninteresting. Did you know that a soldier called Noren tripped on a rock and landed face first in horse dung this morning? The men haven't talked about anything else until news of your duel reached their ears.''

She handed him a small bag and the instructions. He was surprised by the neat writing, given how fast she had written.

''Here are your herbs. Tell your healer she can come discuss southern and northern plants with me if she wants.''

He nodded his thanks. ''She probably will.''

Angela looked at Solembum. The werecat was rubbing his back against Saphira's scaly leg.

''Solembum told me your third match was especially interesting.''

''I was wondering how you could have heard so many news if you had been stirring that pot all day. You have a spy.'' He concluded, indicating Solembum with his head.

''Oh, if you don't want to talk about it, just say so!'' Angela said with a wave of her hand before turning back to her mixture, throwing something in it – chopped liver, Eragon suspected. She looked up at him. ''Well? Aren't you going to say it?''

''I do not want to talk about it. Satisfied?'' Eragon answered, holding back a smile.

''Quite. Now, off you go! And good day to you Saphira.'' She added with a nod towards the dragon who responded with a small nod of her own.

Eragon thanked her again for her help and ran back to Horst's tent.

As soon as he got there, he noticed that almost everyone had arrived. Before making his way through the crowd, he turned towards Blodgharm and told him that they should retire – he doubted he would need protection, and he did not want to make the villagers uncomfortable. The elf nodded his assent, but not before making him promise not to leave the camp without notifying them.

Turning his gaze back to the crowd, he tried to locate Horst or his sons. He was relieved when he couldn't see them, as it meant that they were still inside the tent.

He made his way through the crowd, happy that he did not have to elbow the villagers to do so: simply showing the herbs in his hands made the men and women step aside to let him through. By the time he reached the tent, someone had called Gertrude out and she was awaiting him.

He gave her the herbs and Angela's instructions, explaining that some plants had been replaced with southern species having similar properties. He also told her of the herbalist's offer to introduce her to the southern plants whenever she wanted to. She mumbled her thanks, her eyes already deciphering Angela's notes.

Before she could re-enter the tent, Eragon grabbed her arm.

''I have faith in your skills, but if things exceed the power of the herbs, please remember that I am now a healer. I have no experience in assisting childbirth, but I can stop a haemorrhage, restore muscles and fix bones.''

Gertrude gazed at him for several seconds. Finally, she nodded slowly. ''I will remember that. In the meantime, you should pray that we won't need your skills.''

She returned inside the tent.

Eragon joined Roran who was sitting on a wooden crate. Apparently, Katrina had decided to assist Elain.

They had been sitting silently for a couple of hours when the blacksmith stepped outside, followed by his sons.

''Now we wait.'' He stated.

And they waited. The discussions were whispered, and interrupted when a woman exited the tent with a request for clean water or sheets or when a loud cry escaped Elain. Candles and lanterns were brought once the night started to fall. The men were sitted in small groups, washing and sharpening their weapons, while the women checked the armors or knitted small clothes for the soon-to-be-born child.

If they were still in Carvahall, the women would have been mending working clothes while the men worked on farming tools that needed repairs. They would be gathered in the centre of the village. During the harvest season, those who could not abandon their work would finish it as fast as possible and then hurry to join the others.

In an isolated village like Carvahall, a child was considered a blessing not only to the family but also to the community. Therefore, it was important that the child be welcomed by everyone. It meant that he or she would be protected by the village. To refuse to attend a birth was one of the worst insult one could give.

Once he had finished looking over his hammer for the fourth time, Roran offered to use this time to show his cousin how to shave without slitting his throat open. Eragon accepted with some relief – he had nothing to do now that he and Saphira had exhausted their new riddles.

The dragonness was currently busy playing with the children, allowing them to climb over her legs, chase her tail and hide beneath her wings. He was surprised at the genuine pleasure she had in playing with them.

'It is strange how little we know about each other sometimes, despite being so closely bonded.' He remarked. 'I would never have imagined you happily letting a seven-year-old boy pull at your tail.'

'Be it in times of peace or war, the joys and carefreeness of newborns should not be sacrificed. I am happy these two-legged hatchlings can play and laugh. Most of their usual playmates stayed in Surda.' She declared.

Her words and the scene before his eyes found a strange echo in him. Like an old memory trying to rise to the surface. A scene flashed before his eyes – small dragons climbing over a human body, chasing the rope the man was holding. Before he could examine the strange picture, it disappeared. Eragon shook his head.

'I think these should have remained in the safer cities too.' He said.

'Their parents may die tomorrow. Wouldn't you want your loved ones close? It is not as if the children are going into battles with their parents.'

'I would endure their absence, knowing they were safe.'

'Even in a war, no one truly believes they will die as long as they are on the winning side. In their minds, they probably think that if the Vardens vanquish Galbatorix, they will return to Carvahall with their children. And if they lose… The Mad King does not tolerate treason.' Saphira observed while lifting the wing that hid one boy from another.

'It is not our decision, and it is too late anyway.' Eragon concluded with a shrug.

Sometime after midnight, they finally heard the unmistakable cries of an infant taking his first breaths in the world. The villagers cheered, and looked as Katrina opened the tent and handed a small bundle to Horst. Silence reigned while the blacksmith examined his new child. Then he stood up to his full height and announced:

''It is a girl!''

Everyone cheered again while Horst and his sons enquired how the mother was doing. With his sharp hearing, Eragon listened.

''She is tired, but thankfully there were no complications. I only hope the army will not move until she has recovered.'' Gertrude explained.

Eragon approached them, smiled at the infant and turned towards the others. ''If you wish, I can help with that. I cannot replace days of rest, but I can give her enough energy to hasten her recovery. But I will probably leave in a few days time, so I will not be able to assist her once the army moves again.''

Gertrude and Horst exchanged a glance. Horst nodded.

''Well, the birth is finished, so there is no reason not to allow additional help, even if it comes from a man!'' Gertrude said with a smile.

With a small sigh of relief, Eragon followed the blacksmith inside the tent. He quickly examined Elain before giving her some of the energy stored in Brisingr's sapphire, happy that he hadn't diagnosed any complications either.

Soon after, everyone returned to their own beds, tired from the long day. Eragon climbed on Saphira's back and they glided back to their own tent.

That night again, the dreams disturbed their rest. This time however, they were able to distinctly hear words : Come, Rider, Eragon. Until then, they had only heard disjointed syllables. Unfortunately, the rest of the message was still incomprehensible.

'There are only two voices.' Saphira stated as she yawned.

'Or the others were quiet last night.' Eragon cautioned, quickly washing up and getting dressed.

'No, I think there are only two.' She paused. 'You noticed it too, didn't you?' She asked with some trepidation.

He nodded – though she couldn't see him inside the tent, he knew she would feel his acquiescence. 'One of the voices was unmistakably dragon.'

They continued in silence, ruminating this new piece of information. Eragon carefully shaved with the razor – he couldn't help a tingle of pride when he managed the task without cutting his chin. Saphira stretched, shook her wings and groomed her claws.

Putting down the razor, the young rider shook his head in frustration.

'It doesn't make sense! There are only two other riders and three dragons in Alagaesia. We would recognize Glaedr's voice, and what use would he have to contact us during our sleep anyway? And we would also have recognized Murtagh's, so it cannot be him and Thorn either.'

'Which only leaves Shruikan and Galbatorix.' Saphira concluded.

'But we have already established that it is not the Mad King. And I still feel like I have heard these voices before, but I know I have never heard Galbatorix's voice. Or Shruikan's.'

'It makes even less sense!' Saphira exclaimed, digging her claws in the ground, irritated. 'How can we have heard a dragon's voice before?'

Eragon froze in sudden realization. 'Saphira… We both assumed the memory of those voices came from either my childhood or the time since you hatched. But there is also the possibility of it coming from further ago.'

'Little One, if you have an idea, can you hurry and get to the point?' The dragon commented.

He rolled his eyes and continued. 'I mean, could it be a memory from your past?'

'Eragon… You do remember that I am several years younger than you?'

'But your egg was laid over a century ago' Eragon pointed out. 'Arya carried your egg for fifteen years, and it left an impression in your mind, right? Perhaps voices you heard from your egg while in Vroengard could be similarly stored deep in your mind.'

She contemplated the idea for a moment.

'It might be .' She conceded.'But how could they still be alive today? Oromis and Glaedr were hidden by the elves, and I doubt the dwarves or the Urgals are hiding a dragon on their lands.'

'It could be an Eldunari. I doubt another of the Old Riders could have escaped the king for a century.' Eragon suggested.

'What about the Rider? Humans and elves do not have an Eldunari to preserve their minds when their bodies die.' Saphira objected.

'Brom hid in Carvahall. And I can abandon my body and fully merge my mind with yours. What would happen if my body was killed at such a time?'

'So, the dragon was already in his or her Eldunari, the rider merged his or her mind with the dragon's and the rider was killed. Therefore, both are now trapped in the Eldunari.' Saphira continued dubiously.

Eragon sighed. 'I agree it seems highly unlikely. But it is not impossible either, and I can't think of another explanation.'

Saphira shrugged – which was a strange sight.

'The dreams keep getting clearer. We will probably find out in a few more days.'

She raised her head towards the sky. 'Would you like to go flying?'

Eragon grimaced. 'I would. But Blodgharm will probably chain me to the tent if I leave again without warning him.'

'Then warn him. And I will grab you from above before he can object.' Saphira offered.

They were thwarted when Blodgharm ran to Eragon, bowed and announced:

''The queen has contacted Arya. They are awaiting you.''

'I guess we will just have to remember this plan for next time.' Eragon thought to the dragon as they walked to the elf's tent.

He steeled himself for the interview. Discussions with the elven queen were never easy in his experience, and he was already tired from the lack of sleep.

He rasped on the front of the tent and entered at Arya's call. She was facing a mirror, but greeted him with a quick smile before taking a step back, allowing him to stand before the queen. He bowed and initiated the traditional greeting.

Once they finished, Islanzadi spoke up.

''Arya explained that you were already aware of the fate of the Golden Dragon and his Rider. Please, be assured that I would have personally announced you the unfortunate news if you had not already obtained them through… other sources. I offer you my most sincere condolences. Our people mourns the loss of the last of the Old Ones.''

''Saphira and I thank you for your kind words.''

''It took us several days to fully control Gil'Ead – humans did not prove very cooperative. Yesterday, we were finally able to prepare a small group of elves to carry the bodies back to Ellesmera.''

Eragon was somewhat irked by her remark on humans – who would be welcoming to warriors from a species you had only heard of in tales written to frighten children? - but now was not the time to start a debate.

''Thank you. I am sure they would want to rest on the Craig of Tel Naeir.'' He said instead.

''It will take them several days to reach their destination. The ceremony shall be seven days from now.''

''I cannot leave the Vardens for any longer than necessary. We will travel lightly and swiftly. We will leave in two days so that we arrive a day or two before the ceremony. It will be enough time to prepare a burial worthy of a Rider and Dragon, according to the traditions of the Order.'' Eragon decided. 

Arya stepped up again, confirming that she would come with him to attend the burial. The conversation then circled around the losses, the future plans to continue south and other practical preoccupations. Arya reported the decisions the Vardens had taken during their last meeting. Finally, the queen took her leave.

As soon as the mirror reflected the inside of the tent once more, Arya turned and stared at him. Though it made him uncomfortable, he refused to look down.

''You look tired, though it has been several days since the battle. Did you find our duel exhausting?'' She asked slowly, using the ancient language.

''I believe I am more weary from not resting until late last night. The baby did not come until well after midnight.'' He answered carefully. He did not want to talk about the dreams, nor about their last match.

Suddenly, he was dreading the two days of travelling they would spend together. It was easy to avoid a subject when you could claim to have a task at the other side of the camp; once they were both sharing a saddle, miles in the air astride Saphira, it would be much more complicated.

'Then you should pray for these dreams to reveal themselves before our departure. I can claim that I am concentrating on the flying, but you will have no excuse not to talk with her. It would be beyond rude to ignore her for two days.' Saphira warned.

'I know. That is probably why she does not try to interrogate me now. She knows it will be easier to do so in a couple of days.' He said, schooling his face so that Arya would not see him frown at the thought.

For now, he thanked her for calling him and offered to go warn Nasuada himself of their departure. She accepted, and he hurriedly left.

He spent the rest of the day in short meetings with Nasuada, Triana, Orrin – who obviously wanted to comment but wisely refrained from doing so in front of Saphira – and Orik to advise them of his departure. He then visited Roran and Katrina – and thanked his near-brother again for the shaving lesson. He also went to Horst's. Elain and her daughter were sleeping soundly, and Gertrude was confident that the mother would recover quickly.

By the time he had finished informing everyone, it was already well into the afternoon. He decided to start packing the few things he would need for the trip. That way, he would be able to simply relax and rest on the morrow – who knows when he would have time to do so again in the coming weeks. Once he was done, he talked with Blodgharm and the others – they were sad that they would not be able to attend the ceremony, and Eragon promised to install a mirror so they could at least watch it.

When night fell, he retired.

The dream came again, but Eragon and Saphira felt the difference immediately. There was no fuzziness, and the voices were clear. And their words reached their ears in full phrases.

It is time, Rider. You must come.

''Time for what?'' Eragon asked. They had never been able to interact with the voices before, but the dream had never been so clear. It was worth a try.

Time for you to come to the Rock of Kuthian. Time for us to reunite.

Saphira turned her head in every direction. They could not determine where the voices where coming from, nor who was speaking. There wasn't even a shadow or figure.

'Who are you? Show yourself!' She demanded.

'You will know. When you reach the Rock, you will know.'

'And where is the Rock of Kuthian? I couldn't even find a mention of it, no matter how much I searched.' Eragon questioned. As an afterthought, he added. 'Where did we meet before? Your voices are familiar.'

'You will know. As for the Rock, some things should not be written. Older dragons and werecats should know.'

'The only older dragon we could ask is mourning his rider. And it was a werecat who told me about the Rock already. He wouldn't tell me more.'

'They know more. They value the information enough not to give it away to anyone.'

'Then how do we convince them to share it with us?' Saphira asked, irritation seeping in her voice.

A deep rumble. 'We dragons are never very patient.' The second voice commented. 'Tell them that you are the Second Rider. They will give you the information you seek.'

'The Second Rider?' Eragon wondered. 'What do you mean?'

'You will know when you reach the Rock.'

'Is there nothing else you can say?' Saphira groaned.

The first voice – the Rider's? – laughed. 'Meet us at the Rock. Then you will understand everything.'

Eragon awoke suddenly.

'Well' He thought to Saphira. 'This was absolutely not frustrating!'


	5. To the Rock of Kuthian

'Well' He thought to Saphira. 'This was absolutely not frustrating!'

Saphira raised her head. 'It is not even dawn yet. Do you want to try and sleep a couple more hours?'

'I don't think I can fall back asleep after that.' He got up and splashed water on his face. 'I hope Solembum is already awake.'

'We could also try to talk with Glaedr.' Saphira remarked, though she did not sound convinced.

'Oromis-ebrithil died barely a week ago. I'd rather not force him out of his mourning unless it is absolutely necessary.'

'The Menoa Tree gave you the ore to forge Brisingr. I have no doubt whatever we find in the Vault of Souls will be just as vital for our battle against Galbatorix. If Solembum cannot answer our questions, we will have to try and talk to Glaedr, today. I doubt we will have another opportunity to leave the Vardens before we reach Uru'Baen.' The dragon cautioned.

Eragon sighed. 'I know. Which is why I hope Solembum will be able to answer. Any idea about where we may find him?'

'Probably chasing mice or sleeping in Angela's tent. He will not mind if I locate him by touching his mind.' She assured, and started to extend her mind in search of the werecat.

A couple minutes later, just as Eragon was getting out of the tent, Saphira looked at him and spread her wings. 'I have found him. He is waiting for us. Hop on my back.'

Before he could however, Wyrden – one of Blodhgarm's spellcasters – approached him.

''Where are you going, Shadeslayer?'' He enquired with a hint of reproach.

Eragon was somewhat ashamed of always complicating the task of his guards. It was a wonder they had not reported his behaviour to the queen already. He was glad that he could reassure him in Ancient Language that he did not intend to leave the camp right now, but simply pay a visit to a friend. The elf nodded and asked him if he needed company.

''Forgive me if I am prying, but we have heard that your rest was disturbed since the Mourning Sage's death. It sometimes help to have company when grieving.'' He explained to the Rider.

Again, Eragon felt a blush of shame cover his cheeks. He had not really considered the spellcasters' feelings beyond their missing the ceremony. They had probably known Oromis far longer than him, and his constant disobedience had probably disturbed their own mourning. With a grateful smile, he thanked the elf for his offer and apologized sincerely.

''I sometimes have dreams of the future, but do not always comprehend them.'' Eragon continued, careful of his wording as they were still conversing in Ancient Language. ''This morning, I seek the advice of a werecat friend.''

This way, he was not lying, but the elf would probably interpret that he had had prophetic dreams for the last few nights, instead of a message from an unknown Rider and his dragon. Wyrden stepped back and wished him to find his friend.

Soon after, Saphira landed near Solembum. Eragon quickly jumped down and greeted the wild boy.

''I need to go to the Rock of Kuthian.'' He said, hoping that the werecat would be more open with his knowledge than the last time he had asked.

Solembum simply tilted his head and stared at him, grinning.

''Can you tell me where it is?'' Eragon insisted.

''No.'' He finally replied.

'Eragon is the 'Second Rider', dear friend.' Saphira intervened.

Solembum's eyes flashed and his smile widened, showing his sharp teeth. ''I know. But he did not.''

''How did you know?'' The Rider asked, surprised.

''Because of your mother, Selena.''

He remembered well the day Angela had thrown the dragon bones for him. She had told him she had only offered it to two others: a man who had refused, and a woman who had accepted. Her name was Selena, and she had regretted her choice. Eragon had always wondered if it had indeed been his mother, and if the prediction read by Angela was the reason she had abandoned him.

Eragon cleared his throat and fought the tears these reflections had summoned. Now was not the time to wonder about his origins. Saphira sent him her compassion, and continued the discussion with the werecat while he recovered.

'What can you tell us about the Rock of Kuthian and the Vault of Souls?'

Solembum's smile morphed in a serious frown. ''Not as much as you seem to expect. The werecats were friends with the dragons long before the elves settled in Alagaesia. We are privy to many of their secrets.''

'And the Rock of Kuthian is one of them?' She enquired, confused. She had been taught many old stories about the Old and Wild Dragons by Glaedr. She would have remembered him telling her about the Rock.

''It is. A very old secret. It is said that some wild dragons would go there in some sort of pilgrimage, but that few could reach it.''

''And what about the Second Rider?'' Eragon asked.

Solembum looked him in the eyes. ''The dragons used to say that, if he was needed, the Second Rider would come and attempt to right the world. An old and brave dragon could reach the Rock, but only the Second Rider and his Dragon could reach the Vault of Souls.''

''Since it is apparently established that I am the Second Rider, where can I find this Rock?''

The werecat shook his head. ''It is an old story, and a story that concerns the dragons. As far as I know, no werecat has ever seen the Rock of Kuthian. I do not even know where the name comes from. All I can tell you is that it lies somewhere, high in the East.'' He paused. ''But you have an old dragon. He should know more.''

Frustrated by the lack of detailed answers, Eragon passed his hand through his hair and sighed deeply. He thanked the boy – it was not his fault he did not know more – and resigned himself to disturbing the grieving dragon.

'At least, we have tried.' Saphira told him though she shared his unease. 'And he is still our master, and we are still at war. He is not the only being in Alagaesia who has to keep going for the sake of others despite his despair.'

'I know. I can even confess that I resent his abandonment sometimes. But he is probably the being who suffered the worst loss.' Eragon admitted.

'True. I still wish he had at least tried to talk to us. But the silence stops now.' She decided.

While they talked, they had returned to the tent and the sun had started to rise. Before Eragon entered and dug out Glaedr's Eldunari, they looked towards the East.

'High in the East.' Eragon thought. 'I can only think of the Beors.'

'I have a hard time imagining dragons establishing something so important to them in the middle of the dwarves' lands.' Saphira observed.

'Which might be why they chose this particular place?' Eragon shrugged.

He attached the flaps of the entrance of his tent so that Saphira may push her head inside and see Glaedr's Eldunari. With a spell, he dug out the bag and settled it on the floor. With a deep breath, he joined his mind with Saphira's and together they concentrated to talk to their master.

The Golden Dragon's mind was a dark place. Anger warred with despair. Happy memories flashed, always followed by a deep sadness that almost made them renounce contacting him. Pain, great emotional pain, was everywhere, in every passing thoughts. It was a wonder the Eldunari had not exploded in a furious wave of magic.

Steeling themselves against the turmoil, they called out.

'Ebrithil, we need your help!'

For a short time, the turmoil stopped. Then Glaedr's attention was swallowed back by the excruciating pain of his loss. Saphira and Eragon cried out together, retreating slightly from the suffering mind, before trying again to speak to their master, sending him images and feelings of urgency in order to fix his attention away from the grief.

Finally, the turmoil quietened. They knew it would storm again sooner or later. Hopefully they would have enough time to discuss with Glaedr, and they would give him a purpose to help him through his mourning.

'Little Ones…' The old dragon greeted. His voice was more hoarse than usual.

'We need your help, master.' Saphira stated.

They did not even thought of offering him the polite platitudes the elves were so fond of. A loss was a loss, and empty words did not shorten the time necessary to mourn a loved one. As their minds were in contact with Glaedr's, the dragon was perfectly aware of their compassion – no need to verbalize it.

'Tell me. I will help you if I can.'

'I am the Second Rider. I must go to the Rock of Kuthian, but all I know is that it is located somewhere in the East. Solembum the werecat said that dragons knew more about it than any other species.' Eragon quickly explained in Ancient Language.

'The Second Rider… And the Rock of Kuthian… I can guide you there, it is in a cave, high in the Beors. I have only seen its location in the minds of other dragons. I do not know what you will find there.' Glaedr slowly replied.

'Master, we mentioned the Rock before. Oromis acted ignorant of it, and you said nothing. Why?' Saphira asked cautiously, fearing the name of his Rider would overwhelm the dragon again.

They felt a brief flash of pain, but Glaedr managed to stay focused on their conversation.

'He did not know about it. Few Riders did. Amongst the wild dragons, it was common knowledge. Those who were part of the Order were told much later. I was only told a few years before the Fall.'

'Why such a secret, if it was common knowledge for the Wild Ones?' Eragon wondered, unable to hide his surprise.

'I do not know much about it in fact. I was simply told of its location, and warned that the Second Rider may need help to find it. Had we not already been noticing the premises of the Fall, I am not sure I would have ever been told. I have not thought about it in a long time.'

'Do you know what is this 'Second Rider' business?' Saphira asked.

'And where the name Kuthian comes from?' Eragon added.

'I do not. It was a wild dragon who told me of it. I have yet to understand the meanings of some of the impressions he conveyed me. Something about a broken promise and different riders.'

This did not help to clear their confusion.

'We are supposed to leave tomorrow for… for your funeral.' Eragon started hesitantly. 'Could you indicate us the Rock on your way to Ellesmerà?'

'No one could survive long at such heights. Whatever you will find here, it should not take long. We should leave today, though. You may need several trips to the cave.'

'It is still early.' Saphira commented. 'If we leave within the next hour, we should be able to reach the highest peaks before nightfall.'

'Then go. Contact me again when you reach the Beors foothills.' Glaedr ordered before retiring in his grief.

Eragon quickly hid the Eldunari again, and immediately cast his mind to contact Arya. The elf was understandably surprised by this choice of communication but allowed him in her mind without protest. Deciding that there would be more than enough time to explain everything on the way to the mountains, his message was brief and to the point.

'We have to leave sooner. Pack lightly and meet us in front of my tent in half an hour. I will explain later.' He left her mind without leaving her time to reply.

Meanwhile, Saphira had warned Blödhgarm of their advanced departure. The elf was happy to hear that Glaedr had talked with them and did not attempt to convince them to stay – whatever was important enough to rouse the grieving dragon should not be delayed needlessly.

Eragon quickly saddled Saphira while giving instructions to the furred elf to make his excuses to Nasuada and the other leaders and assure them that all would be explained when he returned. When Arya arrived, he grabbed her bag and tied it to the saddle while she climbed the dragon's leg – not before whispering that she expected a full explanation. He jumped in the saddle, sitting in front of her, strapped their legs, and Saphira launched into the air.

She pushed on the air with her wings, gaining altitude before turning in the direction of the Beors.

'Do not fly too fast, Saphira. You will need your strength to reach the cave.' Glaedr advised before retreating in his mind once more.

''Glaedr is talking?'' Arya exclaimed with some surprise. ''I did not think he would so soon after…''

''We needed his knowledge. Solembum told us he was the only one who may guide us to the Rock of Kuthian.'' Eragon explained, screaming over the winds.

He whispered a spell to enable them to talk at a more normal sound level.

''I suppose this is the reason for our hurried departure?''

''It is. The Rock in located somewhere in the Beors. We should be able to reach it before nightfall.''

He felt her nod behind him. ''But why did you suddenly decide to try and find this Rock? I remember you talking about it several months ago.''

''I doubt I will have time to search for it later. And I hope whatever is inside the Vault of Souls will help us against the king.'' He justified.

''You do not know what you will find? And what happened between yesterday and this morning that made you change our plans?'' She asked pointedly, switching to the Ancient Language.

With a sigh, Eragon decided to stop stalling. She would not rest until he had explained himself, and he had never been proficient in the half-lies necessary to hide the truth in Ancient Language.

''A dream. I cannot really explain it, other than that the Rock of Kuthian contacted me and summoned me. It felt different from those few prophetic dreams I have had. It was more similar to when I saw you during your imprisonment.''

She was silent for a few minutes, mulling over his revelations.

''You saw me several times, and I noticed you were strangely tired these last few days. How long has it been going on?''

''The dreams started after the battle of Feinster. But they were blurry, we could not understand the words of the voices.''

''We? Voices?''

'I shared these dreams with Eragon.' Saphira explained. 'The voices were familiar, but there was no face – not in the dreams, and not in our memories.'

''Are you sure it is prudent to obey those voices? From what you say, I guess that you do not know who they belong to. It could be a trap.'' Arya stressed.

Eragon opened his mouth, preparing to argue that he was confident it was not a trap – though he truly had no rational argument, only a deep seated feeling shared with his dragon – when Glaedr intervened.

'The situation is strange, I agree. But it is not a trap. Galbatorix was never told of the Rock. Few Riders were. And from what I saw in the minds of wild dragons, it is impossible to find it by accident.' He paused. 'And before you ask, Arya, I do not know what is inside either. Only that it may help us – a trump card placed there long ago by wild dragons.'

Though he could feel that she was still frustrated with the lack of explanations, she seemed to understand that they simply could not enlighten her any further. She still had one more question, one that Eragon had completely forgotten in the events of the early morning.

''What happened during our duel, when your eyes turned blue?''

Eragon shrugged. He was not really comfortable about trying to understand what had happened, but she left him no choice. And after all the other revelations, it did not seem so important anymore.

''I honestly don't know. I felt different while pulling that last move. It reminded me of a hunting dragon, so my guess would be that it was a consequence of my being a rider.''

''Your guess is as good as mine, but you do not sound convinced by your own reasoning.'' She observed. Eragon could easily picture her, regarding his back with a raised eyebrow.

He squirmed. He knew why he couldn’t convince himself – or Saphira. He had been a stranger in his own body, a spectator. Nothing related to the bond to his dragon had made him feel this way before. To settle Arya, he simply replied that he had no other explanation, and had not really had the time to ponder it. It was the truth after all.

Once they entered the Beors, Glaedr linked his mind to Saphira's and guided her. Soon they were circling a high mountain, rising higher with each flap of wings. Glaedr explained that they would find a small natural platform to land, and that he would give the final instructions once they were there.

Eragon observed the mountain. It was not the highest one in the Beors, but its peak disappeared in the clouds. Already, Arya and him were shivering from the cold and the air was more and more difficult to breath.

Finally, Saphira found the platform and landed. Eragon unstrapped his legs and climbed down while Arya started to untie the bags and threw them into his arms once he touched the ground.

'Eragon and Saphira will have to continue higher. It will be safer for them to go alone, and without all these bags to weigh them down.' Glaedr advised.

Arya frowned. 'How can it be safer for them to go alone? Especially when we do not know what we will find?' She objected.

'They won't be able to breath because of the altitude. This means that no dangerous creature can be waiting for them in the cave. And the spell to enable them to have oxygen will last longer if there are only two pair of lungs instead of three.'

'But you could give us enough energy to sustain the spell.' Arya remarked.

The dragon sighed. 'Whatever is up there, it awaits Eragon and Saphira. I am confident that they will not encounter any obstacles, but I fear what the wild dragons and Old Riders may have set in place against intruders. I'd rather not trigger something by trespassing.'

'You said earlier that no one could find the cave without directions. Why would they set traps then?' She asked.

'All I can say with certainty about the Rock, it is that it was highly valued by dragons. And dragons can be overly cautious with what they value.' Glaedr explained patiently.

Meanwhile, Eragon had stripped Saphira of everything but the saddle. Handing the bag containing the Eldunari to Arya, he declared that he felt that he should go alone anyway.

''In my dream, I was told that I was the Second Rider, and that I would understand once I reached the Rock. Now that we are close, I feel like the knowledge is just hovering close to my consciousness. I know that Saphira and I need to go alone.''

He saw Arya's curiosity and worry at his words but shook his head. The night would fall in an hour, it was not time for another long discussion. Wordlessly, he climbed on Saphira's back.

'The entrance of the cave is bigger than it looks. From the outside, you will see no more than a crack in the side of the mountain, about halfway to the peak from here. Use Aren to ensure you have enough oxygen.'

Eragon nodded and Saphira launched herself from her small perch. The Rider immediately cast the spell to retain oxygen around them, careful to use Aren's reserves and not his or Saphira's. He had originally planned to save the energy inside Aren for his duel with Galbatorix, but Glaedr was right that he should save his own strength for now – and he did not know how long they would have to remain in the Vault of Souls.

Their ascension was quick at first but then they slowed to better observe the walls of the mountain. They noticed several cracks, but ignored them. They knew they weren't the one they were looking for. Finally, Saphira flew away from the mountain, turned around and flew right into the walls. Just like in Helgrind, she entered a grand cave, hidden behind an illusionary wall.

Eragon once again descended from the saddle and created a ball of light – the cave was dark and it appeared that the spell at the entrance stop the light from entering.

They walked for less than a minute during which they didn't notice anything of interest, until a strange figure appeared. At first, they couldn't distinguish the form in the darkness. They were only a couple feet away when they finally realized what it was.

It was a statue, made from the same kind of rock that the cave, with no discernible separation between it and the floor. It represented a young man, whose features reminded Eragon of those of the elves though they were a few differences. They were rounder, but not child-like. The man was on his knees, an expression of deep sadness on his face. In his hands, he held a broken dragon egg.

A man weeping over a broken dragon egg.

There was no doubt, given the precision of the sculpture, that the statue represented a man who had truly existed. No artist would add such details to an impersonal piece. The man had scars on his back, as if he had been whipped, and the calloused hands suggested that he had long worked with heavy tools.

More than those details however, what convinced Eragon was the sensations the statue evoked in him. He knew this man. He was sure that he had never met him, and yet he knew him.

Saphira approached and touched her nose to the dead egg. Eragon sat on the ground and put his right hand over that of the statue, as if he was trying to comfort him.

The voices from their dreams echoed. Not in the cave, but in their minds.

'Welcome, Second Rider. Welcome Dragon.' There was a hint of irony in their tone.

Eragon and Saphira were not surprised, though. The knowledge that had been just outside their mind engulfed them, offering them the answers to any question they might have had.

The greeting was indeed quite ironical.

'Nice to meet you.' They replied as one with the same amused tone.

/

 

Arya watched as Saphira and Eragon rose into the clouds.

She trusted Glaedr. He and Oromis had often welcomed her when she couldn't bear to remain in Tialdari Hall with her estranged mother. Oromis had often advised her on how to deal with humans and dwarves – as a Rider, he had much more experience in this than any elf.

However, this mission to the Rock of Kuthian made her uncomfortable. Eragon's behaviour had become stranger and stranger as they neared the Rock, and the lack of information made her uneasy. She could accept that it was not a trap set by Galbatorix. But what would be the consequences on Eragon?

After the Agaeti Blodhren, she had feared that his character may have suffered as many changes as his body. In hindsight, it was stupid: the dragons had simply morphed his body in what it would have been after being bonded to Saphira for a few years. In essence, he had not changed.

This time though, the only physical change had been his eyes, and it had not lasted. She feared that he would return different, implacable like he had been during their duel. As much as she hated his strange morals – or rather the situations they often placed him in – they were an important part of who he was.

She did not want to lose another friend to this war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be in Arya's POV


	6. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are in Arya's POV. Any guess about what happened in the Vault of Souls?  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Arya shook her head to rid her mind of these thoughts. It was too late to worry about it now. They were probably in front of the Rock already. Now, she could only wait and deal with the consequences – whatever they were.

To distract herself, she shared enigmas with the old dragon. Night would begin to fall soon and they all needed rest after the long flight, so she dared not open her bags to dig out the report she had to finish for the queen about the Vardens current situation. She found these reports tedious and a waste of time that would be better spent training and planning future battles. Still, her mother insisted on it. She had therefore reached a compromise – though she had been careful not to inform her mother of said compromise – that she only worked on the reports in her spare time. Which explained that she often handed them late.

It quickly became evident that playing riddles with Glaedr was not the most effective way to keep her mind off things. The enigmas often required them to reflect for a long while to determine the right answer. In the meantime, she could feel the old dragon's grief rising again and her own traitorous mind kept returning to Eragon and Saphira.

She hated being so out of control. It reminded her of Gil'Ead, of when she had been completely powerless in protecting herself and her friends. It had been frustrating to realize that an immature young boy had managed to escape within a couple of days – true, he was a Rider, but Saphira had not helped him get out of his cell. Even with the knowledge that she could not escape because the torture exhausted her – not to mention the poison would have killed her anyway – it was still hard to accept that she had been rendered so powerless.

Growing up in Ellesmerà, she knew of the war but had no real understanding of what a war entailed. She was sheltered. True, she had lost her father – and the elves had lost their king – but she was quite young, her memories of him barely clear enough to make a Fairth. She had felt more acutely the abandonment of her mother who had often neglected her because of the demands of duty. The death of her father was simply a fact – a hard and sad fact, but a clear-cut fact – and she had simply had to accept it. Remembering fondly the times they had shared and honouring his memory was easy because she had no reason to blame him for not being by her side.

The same was not true for her mother. She was alive, her only living parent. The one who should have looked after her the most, and try to compensate the absence of a father. Before she became ambassador, when she was still an immature young girl, she did not understand that her mother favoured her queenly duties over her daughter's care. She did not realize that the war was still affecting many people outside of the forest and that the support of her people was needed.

Arya sighed. She knew herself too well to pretend she did not still blame her mother. Children were sacred, and she had suffered from the lack of affection as a child. Though she now understood the importance of duty, Islanzadi could have delegated more tasks to spend more time with her. Elves cared too much about their few children to blame her for it – perhaps some nobles had even offered it. Consciously or not, her mother had chosen not to spend this time with her own daughter. In some ways, Arya had often considered herself an orphan – much like Eragon.

She had never voiced this to anyone. She wasn't sure she ever would. As the queen's daughter, she had first claim to the throne should anything happen and she had been trained intensely to be able to take up the mantle. It had had the unfortunate effect of not allowing her much free time to socialize in her young years, and also revealed that she had a curiosity and thirst of discovery and experience that far exceeded those of most elves. In fact, she soon realized that her way of thinking was different – an advantage in the schemes of politics, her tutors had affirmed – but she had had difficulties forging friendships because of it.

When she was in her third decade, the queen decided that a permanent ambassador with the Vardens and Dwarves was necessary. Brom had assumed the function so far, but most of the Forsworns had been defeated by then and he planned to go in hiding until he could be useful again – and to finally take the time to mourn his Saphira. He also planned to meet with scholars and search for ways to defeat the king or retrieve the eggs.

Few elves wanted to leave the protection of Du Weldenvarden. The only other elves who had applied for the position did not have enough skills in either sword-fighting, magic or the art of defending their mind. Despite her mother's objections, she had obtained the position. She remembered the mixed feelings she had felt when she heard her mother's protests. On the one hand, it was a mark of affection she had long longed for, a proof that Islanzadi was also a mother who cared about her daughter's welfare and not just a queen. On the other hand though, she was no longer a child then – she was extremely young by elven standards, but fully capable of her own choices. It angered her to see her mother show affection so late, and try to manipulate her with it.

She had been happy to leave the forest. She was eager to discover the world, and she needed the distance from her mother. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw once she reached Farthen Dur.

The king had just decided that the lands of Surda were not worth fighting for, and many families arrived each day – victims of the war and of the following negotiations, wounded and homeless. She saw women, who were her age or barely older, scream in anguish when she had to tell them that their son or daughter would never completely heal, even with magic – regrowing a limb or some nerve damage were simply beyond her skills and strength. For the first time, war was a fact she could witness instead of a concept she studied.

Over the years, she also painfully learned that immortality was both a blessing and a curse. Most of her friends were humans or dwarves as she never remained long in Ellesmerà. She saw them ageing, falling in and out love, starting families and die. Sometimes too early even by humans standards. It took her almost a decade to fully adapt herself to this fast way of life – in Du Weldenvarden, it was as if time stood still, for better or worse. Perhaps because she was young, she could not help compare her mother's behaviour to the human mothers she met. It was disturbing to realize that, had they been humans, they would have died without ever attempting a reconciliation.

So she tried to forgive her mother. And she did, at least in part. She also realized that she was behaving much like her mother, favouring duty over anything else. So, when Saphira's egg was recovered and two of her elven friends started to accompany her, she strived to integrate elven culture again and laugh when she could.

For a time, she was happy. She still saw horrors and didn't talk to Islanzadi as a daughter to her beloved mother, but she had friends who did not wither away with time, and she was free to discover new places. The only shadow had been her relationship with Faolin. He had known her since childhood, and was unable to think of her as anything but a friend or a little sister, despite her own sincere feelings. He was kind and gentle in his rejection, but unrequited love was painful, and awkward. She wondered if she would have less regrets now had they had more time to find a new balance instead of his dying when she could barely talk to him out of embarrassment.

Then came the ambush. And Gil'Ead. She lost her friends, her love, her hope. She failed in her duty.

Arya violently shook her head. True, it seemed she was unable to stop herself from introspection and worrying tonight, but she had no wish to revisit this particular time in her life. Besides, Gil'Ead had fallen and Durza was dead – it was stupid to keep getting so upset over it. Eragon and Saphira – and Murtagh – had managed to free her and reach the Vardens in time to save her from the poison.

That is when life became complicated.

Eragon had been trained by Brom, but he was new to all the political tensions. He had somehow retained all the morals humans claimed to value but easily discarded when it did not suit them. He always managed to get himself in inextricable situations – and somehow always found a solution to get out of these with Saphira's help. She watched as the young boy changed in body and awareness, but still remained faithful to himself.

Soon, she was fascinated. She had never seen a Rider and his Dragon besides Oromis and Glaedr and it was obvious that experience was not the only difference. Despite growing among humans, he quickly admitted to not truly feeling like he was a part of the human race. He was also the first one to notice that she felt similarly about the elves – even when Faolin had been her confident, she had been unable to voice this strange feeling.

As weeks passed, she could not deny that she had true affection for the boy and his dragon. Friendship developed easily. Because she was still mourning her friends, she never questioned whether this affection ran deeper than friendship until it was later – and perhaps too late.

Seeing the Fairth he made should not have been such a shock. Though he had been respectful and had not advertised his feelings, he had not been overzealous in hiding them either. She knew he had been hurt by her avoidance in the weeks that followed, but she had needed the solitude. She had tried to discourage him before, thinking it was merely a crush on her that would pass quickly. The Fairth proved that his feelings ran much deeper, and she was not ready to accept her own feelings yet.

She could not deny that she liked Eragon, and that perhaps a loving relationship could blossom between them – he was certainly the closest friend she had ever had. However, she did not want to love him. She had just accepted Faolin’s death, and she had seen too many humans ruin a good friendship because they failed in their relationship. She was unsure of him – as a human, she did not know if his feelings could last, no matter how strong they were – and of herself. Though she had before been confident in her abilities, the ambush and its consequences had made her all too aware of the possibility of failure.

Was it selfish of her to love him too much to risk losing him as a friend?

In some ways, it probably was. He did not have that much happiness in life, and she denied him one more. Plus, she was just as unwilling to let him move on – despite what she repeatedly told him. She held onto the hope that his feelings would survive the war, and that they may try to become a couple in a peaceful environment, without the pressure of the war. When she would have time to experience and prove both his feelings and hers.

But in the meantime, she hurt him. Repeatedly. By rejecting him, by telling him to move on but remaining so close to him that he could not possibly do so without her immediate knowledge. She did not know how he forgave her – she doubted she would have forgiven Faolin if he had reacted like that to her own declarations. She would not be surprised if he confessed that she was part of the reason he intended to leave Alagaesia once the war was over.

Still, she wanted his happiness and safety above her own. It was sad that she did not know how to achieve both. War was no time for relationships and she feared the consequences of such distraction for Eragon. He already protected far too many people during battles, and she had a feeling he would be even more protective if she became his mate – he would forsake his own safety. The war could go on without her, but not without Eragon or Saphira.

And there she was again, favouring duty above the happiness of a loved one. Was it a family trait? She laughed harshly, which intrigued the old dragon.

'Is something the matter Arya? You have been quiet for a long time and I do not think it is only because of my riddle.'

She had completely forgotten the riddle. 'I am afraid I allowed my mind to wander far too much.' She apologised. 'I am worried about Eragon and Saphira. Shouldn't they be back by now? Even Aren's reserves of energy are limited…'

'I do not know what they will find – or have found, by now – in this mysterious cave. But I cannot imagine it harming either of them. The wild dragon who informed me of its existence clearly thought of it as some ultimate resort, a last hope.' Glaedr stated strongly.

'I fear the price that will be paid for this hope. Why not use it before if it was so powerful?' She wondered, still uneasy.

'I wish I had the answer. If they are not back within the next half hour, we will join our minds and reach out for them. But I do not think we should interfere unless it is absolutely necessary.'

Arya was relieved to spot Saphira only a few minutes later. As she got closer, she felt that something was different. It took her a full minute to realize what had changed with the dragon. Before, Saphira's scales were a deep sapphire blue and a shade lighter on her belly. Now, some of her scales were pure white, forming graceful arabesques on her body. She had never heard of a dragon with such a pattern. Dragons normally had simply one colour. She immediately informed Glaedr, a feeling of dread settling in her stomach.

'It is strange indeed, but not unheard of. In the past, some dragons had one main colour and a secondary one distributed as you describe. It was rare, but only in the same way as odd-eyed were-cats. It has no signification, and Saphira is still quite young. If something similar to what we did to Eragon at the Agaeti Blodhren happened, then it might simply be the appearance she was destined to have one day.' Glaedr explained, much to her surprise. She had never even seen a mention of this in all her years of study. Then again, dragon colours was not the most useful information, so she might have simply skipped it without even realizing it.

As they got closer however, she realized that Saphira was not the only one who had suffered a physical change. Eragon's eyes were once again blue, and she had a feeling that they would remain so.

They landed, and Eragon did not bother to jump down. He simply asked Arya to throw him the bags and climb behind him. She opened her mouth to ask him what they had found, but he shook his head before she could speak.

''We are all exhausted, and night is falling quickly. It will be much darker in the valley and we should hurry. There is not enough space for us to spend the night here.'' He explained emotionlessly.

Wordlessly, she nodded. It would take them another day and a half to reach Ellesmerà – they could talk later. She gathered the bags and handed them to Eragon, starting with the one containing Glaedr's Eldunari. Then she climbed up Saphira's foreleg and settled behind Eragon. It was only once they took off that she registered the fact that Eragon had not offered a hand to help her up – he had always done so before.

They quickly found a clear space that was large enough for the two of them and Saphira to settle comfortably. Eragon did not bother to untie all the bags and simply removed the saddle and everything attached to it. Saphira shook out her shoulders, used her tail to remove the rocks and branches on the ground and lied down, wrapped around her Rider and covering him with her wing. They fell asleep immediately.

Arya observed them for a few minutes, marvelling the new appearance of Saphira – the white scales somehow added relief and shimmer to the already beautiful dragonness – and trying to determine any other physical changes in Eragon. From what little she could see poking out from under the blue wing, his face was still the one he had acquired at the Agaeti Blodhren.

As she whispered a few wards to protect them until the morrow – she feared more the wild creatures of the Beors than soldiers of the king lost in the mountains – she wondered what could have happened to exhaust them so much. Was it the spell to retain oxygen? Or something entirely imputable to the Rock of Kuthian? She hoped Eragon would be willing to explain it during their travel – he was entirely too stubborn when he decided not to share something.

She awoke later than the Rider and Saphira, and observed quietly as Eragon distractedly followed the white lines with his fingers, obviously deep in conversation with Saphira – and perhaps Glaedr. She saw the moment he noticed her moving and glanced in her direction and she offered him a small smile but he immediately returned his attention to Saphira, throwing the saddle (and all the bags still attached to it) on her back.

Once he was ready and seated on the dragon's back, he looked at her expectantly and somewhat impatiently. Though she perfectly understood that he wanted her to hurry and climb on, she was determined to have some answers. She could excuse his behaviour of the previous night, when he was clearly exhausted, but his entire attitude this morning was just rude. 

She raised an eyebrow – she knew more than one member of the Varden Council were unsettled by that move. ''It is early and we left a day early. There is no reason to hurry.''

The Rider shook his head. ''There will be a lot of things to do in the elven capital.''

She could not deny that it was a sound reason, but it was vague at best and probably not the only reason. And it did not excuse his current behaviour – or Saphira's who had just huffed loudly at her remark. But she had to admit that she had never quite figured out how to sermon a dragon, so she chose not to comment on that.

She decided to attempt a more direct approach. ''What happened when you found the Rock?''

He simply stared at her, and his gaze lasted long enough to make her slightly uneasy – there was a great wrath in his eyes, that could not be caused simply by her trying his patience.

''I am not in the mood to talk. So, will you please hurry and take your seat?'' He finally said.

Difficult to make the word please sound more ironic than he just did. She took a deep breath and settled behind him, silently hoping that she had not completely lost her friends in this cursed Vault of Souls.

The flight was very different from the previous day. Eragon and Saphira only talked to each other while Arya and Glaedr worried at their changed behaviour. The great dragon feared that he had led his favourite students to their doom, and Arya could feel him frantically searching his memories for any more information about the Rock of Kuthian.

They landed around mid-day somewhere in the Hadarac desert to eat on solid ground and Eragon magically drew water for Saphira – she had not had the opportunity to drink since they left the Vardens army.

Much to Arya's surprise, Eragon addressed her. Still without any respect to the elven rules of politeness though.

''How long has your mother been queen? And your father?'' From his tone, she guessed that he was not asking out of interest in her but for some other – political? – reason. Briefly, she entertained the idea of ignoring him, but decided against it – it was childish and would not accomplish anything. It was tempting, though.

So, she explained that her father had been king for a little over two centuries, succeeding the previous king when he got tired of politics. After Evandar's death, there had been no time for a proper election by the noble families: the elves were still fighting alongside the Riders, and they needed a sovereign. Her mother had immediately stepped in the role. Once it became obvious that the war could not be won, the elves retreated to the forest and officially elected her queen – she had proved to be a good leader in the last couple years of the Fall.

Eragon listened attentively, sometimes interrupting to ask for more details. Arya soon found herself giving him an almost exhaustive lesson on the elves' actions during the Fall, and Glaedr added a few personal memories and insights about what had happened from the Order's point of view. Then they moved on to the topic of the support given to the Vardens, and why the queen withdrew the support after Arya's presumed death.

She could see the fury increasing in his blue eyes as she related the facts. She could not exactly blame him – her mother had not shown great discernment in this particular issue and she had often wished the elves would send more warriors and magicians to the Vardens in Farthen Dur. However, she had never seen him so angry, not even when discussing what Galbatorix had done to the dragons and countless others.

He closed his eyes for a while, struggling to keep his emotions under control. Once he had recovered some measure of calm, he started again. Saphira had finished drinking and was now watching the scene and listening intently. Arya had no doubt she also participated in the interrogation through Eragon.

''Why did Galbatorix keep those three eggs?''

Arya blinked. She had never really thought about that, but now that Eragon pointed it out, it was strange. She had always assumed that Galbatorix had planned to create his own Order – Riders sworn to him who would enforce his laws and sovereignty over Alagaesia. But then, was it not hazardous to only keep three eggs? That made only four dragons – including Shruikan – and only one of them was female. The Fall and the following years had certainly proved that Rider were powerful, but could be killed. Thirteen had followed Galbatorix, and none survived a century later. Had he been, even at the height of his madness, unable to fully condemn the dragon species?

''I do not know why he did. As far as I can remember, talk about the eggs only revolved about finding a way to get them.'' She finally replied.

A strange, amused smile appeared on Eragon's face. ''Yes, I know.''

Though she had no idea what he found amusing about this unuseful comment, she decided to take advantage of his improved mood.

''Eragon… Are you alright? Whatever happened yesterday clearly affected you greatly.''

He seemed irritated by her question. ''I remember mentioning that I was the Second Rider, before I left to find the Rock of Kuthian. Granted, I do not expect anyone to guess the whole story but you can at least guess the kind of information I received yesterday, can't you?''

She stared at him. Clearly, she was missing some important thing. ''Actually, I can't. From the way you say it, I would suppose that 'Second Rider' is some sort of title but not one I have ever heard before.''

The fury returned with full force, but the Rider's voice was icy cold and he spoke deliberately slowly.

''Do you mean that you, the first heir to the throne, know nothing of the details of the treaty binding elves and dragons together?'' Behind him, Saphira growled and ploughed the soil with her claws.

She wanted to object that she had no wish to take up the throne – though she had to admit she would if it became absolutely necessary, much like what happened after her father's death. She did have first claim to it, but she would still have to obtain approval from the nobles and had no obligation to accept to be the new queen. A glance at Brisingr was enough to finish convincing her that now was not the time to discuss semantics: small flames were making the sheath glow, even though she was sure Eragon had not pronounced the sword's name.

With a humourless laugh, Eragon announced that they needed to depart again.

''Indeed, it seems that there is a lot to do in Ellesmerà.'' He commented.

As they continued towards the great forest, she could sense that the Rider was slowly calming down. Once the forest appeared on the horizon, the dragon commenced her descent, making them land some miles away from the border of Du Weldenvarden. Arya did not remark on the fact that there were still a couple more hours of light before the night – more than enough time to reach the forest. She had a feeling Eragon had no wish to enter the elven lands tonight.

Once they were settled, Eragon addressed her, in a way that was much closer to his previous self.

''I want to apologize for how I treated you today. You did not deserve it. But Saphira and I have trouble... adjusting, I guess. I am not angry at you but took it out on you. It was unfair of me.''

''Will you tell me what troubles you so much?'' She asked with renewed hope.

''I will. Part of it should have been taught to you years ago, anyway. Not tonight, though – it is a long story and I believe relating it now would only upset me again. But we were good friends before. I would like us to remain so.''


	7. In Ellesmerà

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in Arya's POV.

''Will you tell me what troubles you so much?'' She asked with renewed hope.

''I will. Part of it should have been taught to you years ago, anyway. Not tonight, though – it is a long story and I believe relating it now would only upset me again. But we were good friends before. I would like us to remain so.''

They reached Ellesmerà in the early afternoon. The flight as mostly silent again, but much more comfortable than the previous day. Eragon and Saphira were a lot more calm, and the silence was mostly contemplative. She had also been reassured by the Rider's promise of an explanation.

She was concerned, however, of what he would do once they landed in the elven capital. It was obvious that he had received some sort of information in the Vault of Souls – he had implied it quite clearly – and that he was not pleased by the elves actions during the Fall and afterwards. And it seemed her mother had failed to inform her of an important part of the history of the Riders. She expected his fury to return when he confronted the queen, and was honestly unable to predict the outcome of such confrontation. She had experienced the stubbornness of both first-hand.

Saphira flew to the Tree of the Lead Rider, ignoring the exclamations of the elves below. Arya was however surprised that these cries lacked the usual admiration the elves always showered the dragons with. Instead, it seemed that Eragon and Saphira were barely welcomed by the elves. What in Alagaesia was going on?

''Eragon… I strongly doubt that the reaction of my people is related to your recent.. discoveries in the Beors. And I must say I never thought I would see the day when elves stopped praising a beautiful dragon!''

Eragon smirked while Saphira emitted a deep rumble that Arya interpreted as a chuckle.

''Saphira might have set the Menoa Tree on fire the last time we were here.'' He replied nonchalantly.

Arya froze. ''I beg your pardon?''

He shrugged. ''We needed the ore between her roots to forge Brisingr, and Saphira got a bit impatient.''

She shook her head. ''You do realize what this tree represents for the elves, do you? I am not sure they will ever forgive you.''

Eragon sat down, leaning his back against Saphira's belly. ''You were the one who told me the story of Linnëa. But I am not sure why it is so important to your people. It is simply the story of a failed relationship and a woman who fled her own mistakes.'' He paused. ''As for the elves' forgiveness, I believe I can live without it.''

''The Menoa Tree is a symbol of magic, nature and time.'' Arya argued, deciding to ignore his remark about the elves for now.

''I know. It does not follow that its status as such is merited.'' He replied simply.

Seeing her look, he sighed and elaborated. ''Time alters stories. Linnëa was born shortly after the elves first arrived in Alagaesia. She spent the first few years of her adulthood perfecting her skills in magic, a gift that was quite rare in that time. Then she fell in love, but the relationship did not work. Instead of learning from that experience, she committed murder. And instead of facing punishment for her crime, she fled. Oh, she did accomplish an impressive feat of magic in doing so. But in the end, it was just an easy way out.''

He looked pointedly at her. ''I know you will argue that the young man betrayed her. But she is not the only woman – or man for that matter – who has ever suffered from unrequited love. We could debate for years on the fact that she could have balanced her passion for magic and her love instead of sacrificing herself for their relationship. Or that he could have been kinder in his eventual rejection. However, it does not change the fact that elves now worship a criminal.''

She opened her mouth to object that the elves worshipped no one, but Eragon did not pause long enough for her to speak up. ''If the same scenario happened nowadays between a male and female humans, what would you think of them?''

She closed her mouth. Eragon certainly presented the story in a much more down-to-earth manner, instead of the version she had cherished since childhood – where love overpowered reason and magic offered a way out of suffering to the grieving woman. And she had heard more than one such story during her long years amongst humans.

But she was not ready to concede yet.

''Love is a powerful and selfish emotion.'' Arya said. ''Linnëa did not act out of hatred.'' She added as a way to lessen the charges against the Tree-elf.

Eragon raised his eyebrows. ''Why did Galbatorix attack the Riders?''

Arya frowned. She did not understand the sudden change of subject. She wanted to protest when she realized the common factor in the two stories. In a low voice, she answered.

''Because he lost his dragon.''

Eragon nodded. ''Love is a powerful emotion. But if you accept it as a justification for Linnëa's actions, then you must apply the same reasoning to Galbatorix. After all, the loss he suffered was much worse than Linnëa's.''

He got up and stretched. ''The only reason she is celebrated I because of the incredible feat of magic she accomplished in merging with the oldest tree of the forest. Though I am sure most elves would be capable of it too – they simply have no reason to follow her example.''

Arya shook her head. ''There are at least a dozen objections to your comparing Linnëa and the Mad King. But I understand your point, and it is a valid one. However, a symbol does not necessarily have to deserve its status beforehand. It is what it inspires in the years that follow its appearance that truly matters. And the Menoa Tree has encouraged the elves to protect the forest and their kin.''

Eragon nodded in acknowledgement and smiled slightly.

''I expect a much less pleasant conversation with the queen soon, so I am happy we can have a friendly debate. For now, I would like to visit an old friend before facing your monarch.''

Arya failed to hide her wince at the thought of that particular confrontation, especially as Eragon had yet to resume the use of the elves' rules of politeness. She had a feeling he intended to spite the nobles on purpose.

As she followed him down the stairs – Saphira was snoring in her nest and would join them later – she tried to reason him.

''In my personal experience as an ambassador, I have observed that calmly sharing points of view achieves greater things.'' She advised in a warning tone.

''I have no doubt of that. But you were the delegate of the most powerful species opposing Galbatorix, so I am afraid that they could not easily object your opinions.'' He retorted. ''Besides, you are assuming that I want to achieve something with this discussion.''

This did not bode well. ''What do you intend then?''

''To make a point. And gather information.''

Arya stopped as they reached the bottom of the stairs, deep in thought. After his behaviour the day before, she found him unexpectedly open in their exchange since they landed. When he turned towards her in a silent question as to why she was no longer following him, she told him as much.

''I promised to explain you all I learned at the Rock of Kuthian.'' He pronounced the name with a new respect in his voice. ''And I will, once my audience with the queen is over. It will probably help you understand my recent behaviour. As to why I am open with you: we are friends, and I honestly have few of those. I do not believe your allegiance truly goes to your mother, and there is nothing you can do to prevent the confrontation anyway, so I see no harm in confiding in you.'' He explained candidly.

''I gave an oath to my queen.'' She said briskly, offended by his questioning her allegiance.

''But would you stay true to your oath if it forced you to disavow all your convictions?''

Arya shifted, unsettled by the scenario he proposed. Of course, she had been aware of such a possibility when she took her oath. But she trusted her mother's morals and sense of duty not to corner her in such a situation. Besides, the oath had been given long ago, so it was a moot point.

''I swore in Ancient Language. If this situation happens, I will have no choice but to obey my queen.'' She declared.

''If this situation ever happens, you will be free of your oath.''

''What do you mean?''

''You are only bound by your oath as long as your true name does not change. In this hypothetical situation, your true name cannot not change. If you obey, you abjure all your personal convictions, meaning that you are not yourself anymore. If you do not obey, you deny your sense of duty that has been a part of you for a long time. Either way, your decision will make you a different person.'' He glanced back at her. ''Besides, you took that oath decades ago. I highly doubt you are still the same young elf who left Du Weldenvarden for the first time.''

''Indeed, I am not. But I should like to think that my allegiance is more than an obligation. Though I admit that the knowledge that I do not have to follow orders blindly is comforting.''

She looked around, wondering who was this friend Eragon seemed so impatient to visit. ''Where are we going exactly?'' She asked.

''To the forge.''

They arrived at Rhunön's only a few moments later. Arya reasoned that she should have expected it – the old elf had always been strange and probably would not care if Saphira had burnt down the Menoa Tree to get her precious ore.

As was her wont, Rhunön barely looked away from the coat of mail she was working on as she greeted them. Eragon grinned.

''Well, Rhunön, your forging skills have definitely improved. I am afraid I cannot say the same about your welcoming nature.'' He observed.

The elf interrupted her work and stared at Eragon, her eyes narrowing when she noticed his eyes. ''Was not the Agaeti Blodhrën enough for you?'' She asked.

''Well, I made a promise long ago and I intend to fulfill it now. I had never suspected that almost everyone would be dead when I came back.'' He replied, sadness clear in his voice.

The blacksmith's eyes widened. ''Aren't you a bit late?'' She said briskly.

The Rider winced. ''I am actually surprised I managed it at all. Given the circumstances…''

''Quite ironic, knowing that paranoia was the reason you made this promise in the first place.''

''I'd prefer to call it foresight.'' Eragon remarked.

''I guess I can no longer fault your reasoning. Events proved you right.''

''I wish they had not.'' He said regretfully.

''Do you, really?'' The old elf interrogated with a raised eyebrow. ''You cannot deny that this situation will help your cause.''

The Rider appeared sincerely contrite. ''I will not deny it. But it does not mean that I enjoy the pain people were put through.''

Rhunön's gaze softened. ''I never said you did. You were always a kind boy.''

He laughed. ''And you have become a bitter old woman!''

Arya stood as a confused spectator. Eragon had explained her how they had managed to forge Brisingr despite Rhunön's oath never to craft a blade ever again. Plus, the oldest elf of Du Weldenvarden had always seemed to have a soft spot for the young Rider. Knowing this, it was not surprising that they would be close friends. However, this conversation was full of allusions and betrayed a camaraderie that had been formed over a long time.

The one thing she was convinced of was that Rhunön knew whatever story Eragon intended to share with her later. Perhaps she should have expected it: she had been alive since the time of the war between elves and dragons. She was bound to know more than anyone else in the forest.

Her attention was brought back to the conversation when she noticed the elf nodding in her direction before asking Eragon. ''Have you found someone of your kin?''

His kin? What did that mean? She was an elf, and Eragon was born human – no matter how elvish his features were now. That was one of the arguments she had often used to ward off his attentions and her own feelings.

Eragon appeared as surprised as her by the remark, but soon assumed a thinking frown. ''What makes you say that?'' He asked.

Rhunön shrugged. ''She is a lot like you were back then. And she was quite young during the Fall – never had the opportunity to see the eggs.''

A Rider. Rhunön was suggesting that she may be a Rider. Of course, part of her had always hoped to be one. She had even admitted to herself a slight disappointment when Saphira's egg remained still in her arms fifteen years ago. There were only a handful of elves who had never touched the eggs given to the Riders. And she had always felt different from the other elves. Was this what Rhunön referred to?

But if it was so easy to spot a potential Rider, why bother to present all the young elves and humans to the eggs before the Fall? Besides, there was only one egg left. She dared not hope that it would hatch for her. In fact, she feared that Galbatorix might destroy it if he realized that he would not be able to beat the joined forces of the Vardens, the Surdans, the Dwarves, and the Elves. A way to ensure his enemies would not be able to achieve a complete victory.

She was spared further reflections by the arrival of an elf who eyed Eragon warily before starting the usual greeting. His frown deepened when the Rider failed to respond and he coldly informed him that the queen wanted to talk to the Lead Rider.

''Ah, yes. I believe this conversation is quite overdue.'' Eragon acknowledged with a predatory grin.

They entered Tialdari Hall a short while later, Saphira landing behind them just before they crossed the threshold. Arya inwardly winced, remembering her half-finished report she had forgotten in one of the bags they had left in Eragon's tree-house. She schooled her features into an inexpressive mask, unsure of what was about to happen.

Eragon and Saphira stopped in front of the queen and waited for her to speak up. Arya stepped slightly to the side. Islanzadi's face darkened when she realized that the Rider had no intention of initiating the traditional greeting.

Technically, Eragon had a right to expect the queen to start the greeting: he was the Lead Rider, and would be in charge of the preparations for Oromis and Glaedr's funeral. However, he was young and Saphira had attacked the Menoa Tree recently. The queen and the nobles had probably expected Eragon to greet Islanzadi first, and then offer heartfelt excuses on behalf of his dragon.

Arya observed the scene, wondering how her mother would react. If she spoke the words of greeting, she publicly acknowledged Eragon as an equal or a superior. If she called him out on his trick, she would officially offend the Lead Rider, who would have considerable powers after the war. Of course, Eragon and Saphira had just publicly offended the elven queen.

Though, in light of Eragon's probable departure once the war was over, Arya guessed that he did not really care to establish a great working relationship with Islanzadi. Most of the lands conquered by Galbatorix initially belonged to the humans and would likely return to them. Some might go to the elves, though she doubted it was worth fighting for. However – and ironically enough – the Riders had almost nothing to gain from this war: Vroengard was uninhabitable and had not even been really claimed by the Mad King. And since Eragon and Saphira intended to leave Alagaesia, they had no need to integrate the elven society – contrary to what most elves had assumed as soon as he first arrived in Du Weldenvarden.

Finally, the queen spoke up, her voice devoid of emotion. ''I understand that you are mourning your ebrithil, and are probably not in the mood for lengthy political discussions. There are however several important subjects we need to address.''

''I agree with you on that fact, though I believe the subjects we wish to address will differ.'' Eragon replied in a polite voice. Far too polite in Arya's opinion.

''The first one is your and Saphira's treatment of the oldest tree of the elven forest.'' The queen continued, ignoring the young Rider's remark.

Eragon lifted an eyebrow. ''The Menoa Tree suffered no lasting harm and refused to help us acquire a weapon against Galbatorix. I hardly think this necessitates an audience, especially when you remember that thousands of people, from all species, are dying as we speak.''

''If the Old Riders had taken care to better check the behaviour of their apprentices, this war would not have happened in the first place.'' The queen objected. ''You are a Rider, Eragon. Your behaviour should be faultless.''

Eragon's grin became feral and Saphira groaned. ''Faultless? I never aspired to such perfection. And I believe this war was predicted long before Galbatorix's birth. Was it not precisely your duty to ensure that no one suffered from the madness of a dragonless Rider?'' He claimed, his voice rising.

Arya watched as her mother and some of the nobles obviously paled, much to her surprise. How could it be the responsibility of the elves when the Riders had been granted their independence centuries ago? Nor had she ever heard of a prophecy or vision warning the species of Alagaesia of the threat of a mad Rider. Yet, there was a definite feeling of unease after Eragon's proclamation.

''It is not your right to judge the actions of my people.'' Islanzadi stated strongly, supported by the nods and mumbles of several nobles. Others where obviously as confused as her and were now watching intently Saphira's and her Rider's reactions.

''It is the right of any Born Rider, and I am the Second One!'' Eragon declared loudly, switching to the Ancient Language.

Arya could not remember the last time Tialdari Hall had been so completely silent. The worried nobles – including her mother – had gone from pale to absolutely white faces, while the others – and herself – dared not draw a breath for fear of missing the key information that would explain what was happening.

Eragon continued. ''You dare to question my right as a Rider? You went to war, but you failed and then you stayed hidden. Only three elves actively tried to help in the last fifteen years, and they almost had to do so against your orders.'' He paused and briefly glanced at her. ''But such cowardice and failure could be excused, as even I and the Wise Ones had not predicted such a dangerous rogue. However, you failed to inform the next in line for the throne. Whether she accepts it or not is irrelevant. Your daughter Arya is the heir presumptive, and should have been made aware of the full story decades ago.''

The queen sighed and stood, her voice softer but still firm. ''Arya chose to leave the safety of Du Weldenvarden. I chose not to share with her information that may harm our cause against Galbatorix.'' She stared at Eragon, focusing on his eyes, and then followed the white lines on Saphira's scales. ''I do wonder, however, how you could possibly be the Second Rider. It is my understanding that he disappeared a few years after leaving the Order. Or are you suggesting that you have cheated death itself?''

Eragon smiled. ''No bodies were ever found. Your people and the Riders assumed that I had died. I did, however, inform the Wise Ones of my intentions – I feared that the elves would not fulfill the Debt.'' His features darkened. ''I was right. You cannot justify Arya's ignorance by her leaving as an ambassador. The reason all this was not public knowledge was to avoid conflict between Riders. Even if Galbatorix had gained this information from her, there is nothing he could have done with it.''

He paused and let out a small humourless laugh. ''She was already privy to much more dangerous information, and has certainly proved that she was capable of keeping a secret. Why did you not inform her once she returned last year?''

He waved his hand. ''But as I said, there is a war killing people outside your forest. The matter of your failure can be discussed once Galbatorix is dealt with. You even have my authorisation to inform everyone of the details of the treaty between Elves and Dragons. I will personally explain the full story to your daughter, and will leave you the task of deciding what should be told to whom besides her.''

Arya nodded gratefully. She was getting tired of trying to make sense of these conversations.

''I simply have a few questions for you, Queen Islanzadi, so I can better assess the current situation of our war against the Mad King. First, do you know why he kept those three eggs?''

The queen had stopped attempting to take back control of the conversation and rubbed her temples before answering.

''According to what we extracted from the minds of some of the Forsworns, Galbatorix had no intention of keeping eggs when he started his attack. After their dragons lost their names, the Forsworns asked to keep any egg that had been sired or laid by them. Most had already been destroyed or had hatched a few years ago. In the end, only the red egg which hatched recently was recovered – it was sired by Morzan's dragon. The green egg, as well as Saphira's, were kept because was Galbatorix was unable to break them.''

''Do we know the parents of the green egg? And the year of its laying?'' Eragon enquired further.

''From the archives, it was sired by a couple of wild dragons, who gave it to the Riders about three decades before the Fall. Galbatorix was still an apprentice amongst the Riders. We started to doubt the veracity of this information when Saphira hatched for a young human. A Born Rider is usually born within the forty years that follow the egg's laying. I suppose your presence here proves this theory wrong.'' One of the nobles intervened.

''Actually, it does not. Saphira and I had specific circumstances which enabled us to be an exception. Which means that the Rider of the green egg must be between one hundred thirty and ninety years old. At this point, we can consider it unlikely that the Rider is human. And from what I have both heard and observed, Arya is a likely candidate.'' Eragon slowly analysed as he spoke.

Arya forced herself to remain impassive even as she felt her mother's stare. She refused to feel excitement at the idea of being a Rider, wary of the disappointment if events proved Eragon and Rhunön wrong or, worse, if the egg was destroyed before she had a chance to touch it. Plus, it was now becoming quite clear that being a Rider would not help her mend her relationship with her mother.

Eragon mock-bowed and concluded. ''I see this news were quite disturbing for your majesty. I will not waste any more of your time today, especially as I have a long story to relate.''

Turning towards her, he touched her mind for the first time since he returned from the Rock – which he had failed to mention in front of the elves, she noticed – and silently told her to meet him on the Crags of Tel'naeir. Though the contact was brief, it was enough for her to feel that Eragon's mind had changed – somehow, it felt more complete.

It only took her a few minutes of running to join them. Judging from the saddle on Saphira's back and the bag at Eragon's feet, they had retrieved Glaedr's eldunari as well. Eragon sat down motioning for her to do the same.

''The story I am about to tell you is a long one, so you should make yourself comfortable.''

She settled down and looked at him expectantly. ''It is the story of the end of the Dragon war? An unedited version, I gather?''

Eragon passed his hand through his hair. ''It is.'' He smiled. ''It is the story of a young boy called Eragon, who cheated death to accomplish what he failed to do the first time. My story.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the first of a new part of the story, as you can guess. And we will be back to Eragon's POV.


	8. Eragon's story: The Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update is a bit late, but it is here. Enjoy!

_Eragon passed his hand through his hair. ''It is.'' He smiled. ''It is the story of a young boy called Eragon, who cheated death to accomplish what he failed to do the first time. My story.''_

 

 

Once they reached Alagaesia after leaving Alalea, the elves settled in the great forest of the north. The old trees offered shelter, and sturdy wood to build the first houses. The bushes hosted many animals and berries, which ensured they would not have trouble finding food.

 

Like any people discovering a new continent, as soon as a first town was established small groups endeavoured to explore beyond the forest. Those who travelled south discovered and then crossed the Hadarac Desert, and met the Dwarves. Others headed West and discovered large plains where they eventually encountered Urgals. Neither of these species were bothered by the arrival of new inhabitants on the soils of Alagaesia. The forest was too far from their own cities to be visited often, and they did not care if the elves claimed it as their own lands, as long as they did not try to conquer the Beors or the Plains. The elves were also impressed by some of the strange animals living in Alagaesia, like the Feldunosts, the Fangurs or the Dragons.

 

The encounter that first had a significant impact on the history of the elves, however, was not with any of those species. A mad man happened on one of the patrols exploring the Great Forest. The elves immediately observed that he did not belong to any of the species encountered previously, and he was therefore quickly brought to the growing capital of the elves. The man was unkempt and wild, but desperately attempted to communicate with a few disconnected words in dwarven language. Unfortunately, his knowledge of the language was extremely poor and they could not understand what he was trying to say.

 

Despite all expectations, finding out where the stranger came from proved surprisingly easy. When the next group of dwarves arrived in the Great Forest for the now usual trade between the Forest and the Mountains, the elves enquired if they had ever encountered the man or another of his kind. Shrugging, the leader of the small group explained:

 

''He is a survivor of the Grey Folk. A species which enjoyed an incredible bond to the Magic of Alagaesia. A few centuries ago, they were incredibly powerful. We don't know exactly how their civilisation was organised or what great achievements they may have left behind. Like I said, it was a long time ago, and no one likes going in the few ruins that are still standing.''

 

''Why ever not? If they were so powerful and could even control Magic?''

 

''Controlling Magic is a gift that all conscious and intelligent species in Alagaesia have. At least, a few individuals have this ability. You will probably discover that some of your children have it too. But to use magic, you need to use the Language of the Grey Folk. _That_ is why the Grey Folk was different. _All_ of its members had the gift to use Magic. But at that time, Magic was not bound to the Language. And it was quite dangerous, from what we found in old documents.''

 

''What do you mean?''

 

''Well, apparently their Magic could react anytime they were upset – even from a young age. It seems we owe them more than one of the storms and earthquakes that shaped these lands.''

 

''Is this the reason their great civilisation disappeared?''

 

''Somewhat. Old documents from our archives mention a great cataclysm after which the Grey Folk bonded the Magic to their language. Obviously, they managed it, but something went wrong and most of them died immediately or soon after. This man here...'' The dwarf explained, nodding towards the wild man. ''… is one of the few who were unlucky enough to survive. He lost all his knowledge of the language, and most of his mind. But you don't have to worry, he is harmless: he can't use Magic anymore, and he is too mad to hatch a devious plan.''

 

The elven leaders were now more interested in Magic than in the fate of a mad man. They pressed the dwarves for a small demonstration of the talents of their spell-casters. Impressed with the results, they enquired if there were any ruins of the Grey Folk near their new towns.

 

Soon, the elves sent groups to explore the ruins of the Grey Folk and studied old documents loaned by the Dwarves. They also convinced them to send a few of their magicians to find and train the elven children who had the Gift of Magic.

 

As their new kingdom grew, so did their knowledge of Magic. Again, finding documents from the Grey Folk proved easier than expected. The Dwarves were helpful in locating the ruins, and once there, the documents were carefully stored in what had obviously been libraries or studies of the Grey Folk. Clearly, their demise had been so sudden that they had not been able – or perhaps simply willing – to hide their knowledge. It was only the passage of time that rendered some scrolls undecipherable.

 

A decade after encountering the mad member of the Lost Folk, the elves had their first magicians and scholars.

 

One of these first scholars was a woman called Linnea. In this time, women had few rights and education, except for those who had the Gift – there were too few spellcasters for the leaders to refuse a new one solely because of her gender. Proud of her accomplishments and independence, Linnea dedicated her life to studying the interactions between magic and plants. She was the first one to sing everyday tools from trees, though it was an exhausting exercise. Unfortunately, she was disappointed in love, and killed her old lover in a fit of rage. Realizing what she had done, she used her magic and research to escape from the society she had never fit in, as well as avoid the punishment for her crime.

 

Her story provoked an uproar in the elven community. Authorities wanted to find a way to extract her from the Menoa Tree, refusing to let a murderer go unpunished – especially when everyone knew exactly where the culprit was. Scholars petitioned the leaders for an authorisation to inspect the tree and study Linnea's notes. And finally, most of the population questioned the control of the magicians, who could apparently commit crimes and escape justice.

 

The debate was cut short, however, by the foolish actions of an arrogant boy.

 

This boy was known as an excellent hunter and swore, to impress his friends, that he would hunt what was considered to be the most difficult game: a dragon. Others had tried before, but Dragons were quick despite their massive bodies, and rarely landed in an open space for a long time. They were therefore hard to find in the middle of the Forest, and presumably – from their glittering scales – even harder to kill.

 

His reputation of being an extremely talented hunter proved well-deserved. He did manage what no other had accomplished before, and proudly brought home the scaly hide and the meat of a young adult dragon.

 

His triumph was short-lived. He died the following day.

 

The Elves had assumed the Dragons to be magnificent predators, but not intelligent and conscious ones. They had after all encountered equally surprising creatures in the mountains of the Dwarves. As a consequence, the idea that Dragons might seek revenge for the murder of one of their kind never crossed anyone's mind. Their attack of the hunter's village was a complete surprise, and the young man and his friends were dead before any neighbour had the time to call for help.

 

From this point on, things slowly escalated, each attack bigger and more ruthless than the previous one. A few month later, the leaders of the Elves officially declared a state of war. The first battle where they used enchanted weapons reassured the elves that dragons were far from invincible, though it was also painfully clear that this war would be long and hard.

 

A young elf, named Eragon, was born during the second year of the war. Like every other children from that period, he grew up in a militarized society. The education was focused on daily and fighting skills for the boys, and on crafting for the girls.

 

Magicians, who had been heavily criticized after Linnea's case, were now deemed essential to the survival of the elven kingdom and highly sought after. Most of them were sent into battles, where they maintained wards to protect the soldiers from the fire and the claws of the dragons. Those who could not go on the battlefield – either because of a previous injury or because their wards were too weak – assumed many other functions such as healing, training the younger magicians – the dwarves had left as soon as the first battles happened, refusing to get involved in this conflict – and enchanting the weapons the soldiers used in battle.

 

In the hope of awakening the Gift in more children, the Language of the Grey Folk was taught from an early age and children were encouraged to use it more than their native language. Because the Language was magical, they hoped that constant use of it would eventually induce the birth of more elves with the ability to wield Magic. In the short term, it had the effect of enabling the gifted children more early, as they instinctively used Magic when greatly frustrated.

 

Even though Eragon grew up hearing countless stories of elves killed in battles, of villages destroyed by dragon fire, and praises of great warriors who had slew scores of dragons with their enchanted spears, he found himself unable to understand this war. Somehow, the idea of killing a dragon felt as wrong as the idea of killing a fellow elf.

 

As a young child, he listened to his parents and teachers speeches, assuming that it was simply one more of those things you could only understand once you grew older. If the adults said all this, it had to be true after all. His hopes slowly crumbled when he realized than none of the other boys in his age group encountered the same issue.

 

When Eragon was about ten years old and visiting the training camp of the capital with his age-group, an elf voiced the same thoughts that had plagued him for years. He was a young soldier, who had yet to earn a higher rank on the battlefield, named Kuthian.

 

He was walking from people to people, enjoining them to follow him to the centre of the town and listen to what he had to say. Once people had gathered, Eragon watched as Kuthian climbed on a wooden crate so that everyone could see him and then started in a clear and strong voice.

 

''I know what I am about to say will shock many of you, though I hope at least some amongst you think alike and simply did not know how to speak up.

 

This was has been going on for a long time – over a decade. And it will likely last another on if we continue in this vein. But this war could end much sooner if we tried to negotiate a peace treaty with the dragons. They are not beasts. Their fierceness in battles, their strategies, are proof enough that they can use their minds as well as their claws!''

 

Eragon let out a deep sigh of relief – he was not the only one preferring peace over complete obliteration of their opponents. Glancing around, his relief did not last long. Though he noticed a few hesitating or even interested faces, most in the assembly were muttering and criticizing the nerve of a simple soldier daring to speak against the leaders decisions. A peace treaty? When all figures indicated that they were slowly gaining the upper hand in this war? Preposterous!

 

Few seemed to actually listen to Kuthian's sound and logical arguments.

 

Kuthian had apparently noticed it too, for his voice wavered a couple of times and his eyes searched the crowd for the few interested faces.

 

In the end, he was silenced by a young elf – not even a soldier yet though he looked nearly old enough to be one. He marched up to the crate Kuthian had climbed, and then deliberately pointed at him.

 

''Traitor!'' He screamed. ''How can you be so willing to ruin everything our parents and children fought and died for? Traitor!''

 

His cry was soon echoed by the rest of the crowd. Eragon watched helplessly as even those who were interested a couple minutes ago joined the accusing and threatening voices. A few young soldiers started to pick up rocks and throw them at Kuthian, until authorities intervened. Unfortunately for Kuthian, none of the leaders had appreciated his words, and they only stopped the abuse to judge him for high treason and consorting with the enemy.

 

The trial was held the following day, in the same place Kuthian had tried to convince the people that peace was the best option. The beaten elf had to defend himself alone against the heavy charges. Kuthian denied any thought of treason, but continued to argue for a treaty with the Dragons. Soon, the judges deemed him to be either mad or trying to sell the kingdom to the enemy.

 

Either way, all agreed that his words were dangerous for they could undermine the troops' morale and encourage future traitors. Therefore, Kuthian was quickly sentenced to be whipped until death, as an example.

 

Eragon did not know if he should admire or pity the elf's determination. He watched as Kuthian continued to preach for peace in between screams of pains. Whenever he was about to pass out from the pain, he was forcibly awaken by a throw of icy water.

 

As time went on, the elf lost the strength to cry out each time the whip cut into his skin. The crowd had started to scatter now that most of the excitement was over. Eragon caught the eyes of Kuthian and, feeling guilty for not being able to help him, simply mouthed ''I believe you.''. Shock, and then a mixture of hope and relief bloomed on the exhausted face of the battered elf before he mouthed back silently: ''Stop this war, boy.''. Eragon nodded minutely and then hurried away, afraid that someone might have noticed the short exchange.

 

Later that night, lying on his bed, Eragon wondered how he would ever be able to keep this promise – he was only ten, and no one had truly listened to Kuthian.

 

What he would need, he realized, was power and authority. So that when he talked as Kuthian did, people would not be able to dismiss his words as easily. But how could he achieve such a position? Basically, the most important people were the high officers and the magicians.

 

His age group was barely starting the sword and spear training, as well as the weird exercise that were supposed to reveal whether or not they had the Gift. To become a high ranking officer, he would need to be a great warrior and kill dozens of dragons. He had no idea if he had the potential to develop those skills, and the thought of killing so many dragons made him sick anyway. Besides, his ultimate goal was to negotiate peace. Would it not be hypocritical to do so after killing scores of dragons?

 

If he had the Gift, he would have no choice but to participate actively in the battles, though it was probably a quicker path to important positions. Unfortunately, Linnea's crimes had not been forgotten, and magicians were still regarded warily – not exactly the best reputation if your main objective is to ensure people will listen to you. As a consequence, rumour had it that the minds of all the children beginning magical training were searched for any unstable, criminal or traitorous thought. The memory of his brief exchange with Kuthian would probably be enough to have him sentenced to the same fate.

 

Eragon shook his head. Magic was clearly not an option, whether he had the Gift or not. Which meant he would have to find some way to hide it if he did have it.

 

He sighed. He could not see himself as a soldier, and a magician was purely impossible. He glared at the ceiling, thinking hard of all the important figures he knew in the elven society and their role, searching for one which might fit his needs.

 

A blacksmith. Only a few of them enjoyed political power and general respect, but those who did were sort of advisors for the authorities. They forged weapons and armours, the most famous ones were living in the capital and had forged the equipment of the 'heroes' of the war. And they were taking apprentices.

 

Eragon had always been good at manual and precise work. He was not sure he could be a legendary blacksmith, but he was convinced that he could become a very good one with some hard work.

 

And so his plan was hatched. Eragon took care not to show any talent for the wielding of weapons while still making a show of trying. He forced himself to remain as calm as possible during the pointless exercise to awaken Magic – he had heard older boys say that Magic somehow appeared when you got angry, and could think of no other explanation of why pushing a small stone to the top of a hill using only his left foot was supposed to awake the Gift. And he spent all his free time hovering near, and then inside, the local forge.

 

The blacksmith from his small village was skilled, but no overly sociable. It took some time before the ageing elf allowed Eragon inside, and even longer – as well as much begging – for him to start explaining what he was doing and why. But Eragon slowly earned his respect over the next few months, and after a few months the blacksmith observed as he melted ore, sharpened a sword or assembled and articulated the different parts of an armour.

 

Meanwhile, the elves were growing wary and restless. There had been virtually no attack since Kuthian's execution, but many sightings of dragons scouting the different towns. Such behaviour had always been followed by terrible assaults in the past. Everyone was wondering when and where the next one would happen, and feared the moment they would strike.

 

They were not disappointed. The dragons attacked in the early hours of the morning, without any warning signs. They vomited torrents of flames on all the main towns and attacked unrelentingly for two days straight. When they were finally driven back, half of the buildings were reduced to burning shambles, the soil had become red from all the blood – both elven and dragonic – and was covered with dead bodies.

 

Once the officers officially announced that the buildings that the dragons had first targeted were the schools and the accommodations of the soldiers-in-training, shock was great. Even though the war had been raging for over ten years, there had been an unspoken rule that both camps had always respected: the children – or the hatchlings, in the dragons' case – would not be directly targeted. Of course, there had been youngsters killed before – but never deliberately. It had always been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

Until now. During their latest attack, the dragons had broken this unspoken rule. The elves fully intended to retaliate in kind.

 

Unfortunately, there was much to rebuild first – their defences had suffered a lot, and they could not leave the towns so unprotected – and dragons' nests proved extremely hard to locate. The first few they found were also clearly unreachable without using Magic – and the eggs were only vulnerable to Magic. Despite the vindicative feelings shared by all, the elves had to resign themselves to a long time of planning and preparation before they could launch a similar attack.

 

A full year passed. Eragon had been careful not to show too much aptitude in swordsmanship, and to remain calm during the exercises used to reveal the Gift. He spent nearly all his free time at the local forge. He had already learned quite a lot, though his young age meant that he did not have the strength needed to run a forge. Still, when one of the most important blacksmith from the capital sent word that he was searching for two apprentices – the previous ones had not survived the great attack and it had taken some months to make the forge safe again – Eragon was recommended by the local blacksmith. The teachers did not try to talk him out of it – they did not consider him much of a loss as a soldier.

 

He was not the only candidate, but his dedication and young age – he was only eleven – helped him obtain the apprenticeship. The only other apprentice the blacksmith kept was a thirteen year old girl named Rhunon. It was quite unusual for a girl to work in a forge, but her talent was truly astonishing.

 

Another year passed. Attacks continued, though there had been no major one since the dragons targeted the children. Most of the main buildings had been rebuilt. And the leaders announced that the attack on the nests would take place soon.

 

Eragon gritted his teeth when he heard the announcement, and vented his frustration by hammering a plate of iron. It did calm him some, but when his work was finished he felt restless. He knew the army would return in the evening, and that stories of the battle would be on everyone's lips for days. He had no wish to hear about it.

 

He stalked off out of town and deep into the woods. It was against all the rules and extremely dangerous – he could hardly expect the dragons to be kind enough to let him be on the very day the elves had destroyed most of their eggs – but Eragon did not care. In this instant, he simply wanted to forget that he was an elf, that he was part of the people who kept increasing the amount of cruelty of this war. No one had wondered why the dragons had suddenly attacked the children, they had simply answered to violence by more violence. Eragon had no idea why it had happened either, but could not help feel that it had something to do with Kuthian's execution.

 

He did not pay attention to where he was going, but stopped abruptly when he noticed the blood. A _lot_ of blood, with splatters that suggested that it had fallen from quite high. He felt his heartbeat speed up and hurriedly followed the track.

 

He finally arrived in a clearing where a dragon was dying. Eragon was no healer, but the wounds he could see and the amount of blood he had seen on his way left him with no hope for the survival of the dragon.

 

Cautiously, he circled around the dragon until he could see its head. It was a white dragon of medium size, and it appeared to have suffered wounds from both swords and spears. His chest constricted as he observed the wounds, wondering if one of the four swords he had forged the previous month was responsible for any of these wounds.

 

The dragon suddenly noticed him as well, and tried to rise but fell back down immediately. A silver eye bored into his own and a growl emanated from the broken but still impressive beast. Eragon stopped and showed his empty hands and said softly, using the Ancient Language, that he meant no harm. The growl stopped, but the eye was still wary. Eragon approached slowly.

 

Suddenly, he felt a pressure against his mind and an overwhelming presence invaded him. There was pain – physical and emotional pain – but also a tinge of hope. Eragon had not known that Dragons could invade minds like the magicians, but he tried to remain calm and not to fight it. It was probably the only way they could communicate at present.

 

The dragon quickly browsed through his recent thoughts and memories, the hope growing through its examination. Finally, it seemed to be satisfied and showed him a series of images. A group of dragons living on top of rock or a cliff. Many eggs of different colours. A dragon joining the others and leaving again, followed by many others. Elves climbing on the nearly deserted rock. Spells. Blood. Claws. Swords. Bodies. Broken eggs. An egg that did not break after several spells. A white dragon grabbing the egg and flying away. Crashing in the clearing. Seeing a young elf approach.

 

The images defiled quickly, but Eragon could still understand what had happened. The elves had attacked the nest after luring most of the dragons away with an attack elsewhere. For some reason, the spells had not been able to break at least one of the eggs, and the wounded dragon had fled with it despite its wounds. Unfortunately, it had not been able to fly any further.

 

The presence of the dragon retreated in his mind, though it did not leave it completely. Painfully, the dragon raised its wing and uncovered the egg before slowly pushing it towards Eragon. The young boy advanced some more and settled near the head of the dragon. Once the egg was close enough, he took it in his arms. He felt the approval of the dying dragon before it left his mind. Eragon rested his hand on the nose of the dragon, his gaze never leaving the silver eye.

 

With a final sigh, the dragon stopped breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Hope you enjoyed this first chapter ; )  
> I already have ten chapters written, but I will post slowly (once every week or two weeks) because I have several works in progress at the moment.  
> Anyway, please let me know what you thought in the comments. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and encouragements keep me motivated!  
> Until next time!


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